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Mary  J.    L.    McDonald 


The    rich,    creamy   satin    flowed   all  about 
her  to  the  floor  {page  216) 


Miss  Philura's 

Wedding  Gown 


By  FLORENCE  MORSE  KINGSLEY 


Author  of  "The  Transfiguration  of  ^liss  Philura,',  "The 
Resurrertion  of  Mis?  Cynthia,"  etc. 


»  >    >  • 


WITH  FOUR  ILLUSTRATIONS 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 


Copyright,  1912,  By 
'COLf-tER'&  NAST.dwc.) 


Copyright,  1912,  Bv 

DODD,  MEAD  Se  COMPAN/ 

Published,  October,  1912 


IN  MEMOR/AM 


^ 


As  on  a  memorable  occasion  in  lier  not  dis- 
tant past,  Miss  Philura  Rice  leaned  for- 
ward and  gazed  at  the  reflection  of  herself 
which  looked  back  at  her  from  out  the 
somewhat  dim  and  clouded  surface  of  the 
mirror  atop  her  shabby  little  bureau. 
The  mirror  in  question  was  cracked  diag- 
onally across  its  surface,  the  fact  being 
hinted  at  by  the  blue  ribbon  pinned  over 
the  crack. 

Now  it  is  a  custom  quite  as  old  as  the 
race  itself  to  gaze  at  one's  reflection  in 
the  looking-glass.  Everyone  does  it ;  gen- 
erally in  private,  in  the  solitude  of  one's 
own  dressing-room,  but  sometimes  in  pub- 
lic catching  unexpected  and  often  discon- 
certing views  of  one's  face  and  person  in 
some  cunningly  placed  mirror.  For  ex- 
ample, Jones,  dining  at  a  downtown  res- 

[   1   ] 


Mzss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

taurant,  catches  sight  of  a  fellow  eating 
at  a  table  near  him. 

**  What  a  disagreeable-looking  chap," 
cogitates  Jones.  "I  don't  like  his  nose; 
nor  his  eyebrows,  nor  the  set  of  his  coat, 
nor  the  way  he  uses  his  knife  and 
fork." 

Then  it  suddenly  dawns  on  Jones  that 
the  whole  side  of  the  restaurant  is  one 
huge  mirror,  and  that  he  has  been  gazing 
at  himself,  Jones,  and  that  he  doesn't  in 
the  least  like  the  looks  of  Jones.  He  tries 
to  comfort  himself  by  the  reflection  that, 
after  all,  it  wasn't  any  sort  of  a  looking- 
glass,  not  to  be  compared  with  the  shav- 
ing-glass on  his  own  dresser  at  home,  with 
which  morning  presentment  of  himself  he 
is  complacently  familiar;  but  somewhere 
in  the  back  of  his  brain  lurks  the  convic- 
tion that  for  once,  at  least,  he  has  beheld 
himself  as  others  see  him,  and  that  Jones 
is  a  commonplace,  not  to  say  disagreeable- 
looking  fellow. 

[2] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

But  all  this  is  quite  beside  the  mark, 
when  one  comes  to  the  consideration  of 
Miss  Philura's  inspection  of  her  small  per- 
son in  the  cracked  mirror  of  her  own  lit- 
tle bedroom. 

Miss  Philura's  earnest  blue  eyes  were 
not  concerning  themselves  with  the  faint 
lines  about  her  delicate  lips,  nor  even  with 
the  vague  mist  of  silver  glinting  the  brown 
hair  about  her  ears. 

No ;  quite  frankly  and  unaffectedly  the 
lady  was  studying  the  effect  of  her  dress, 
a  world  too  large  for  her.  The  material 
was  good ;  there  could  be  no  question  as  to 
that.  It  was  a  satin  brocade,  exhibiting 
large,  sprawling  leaves  of  black  on  a  pur- 
ple background.  It  was  rich  and  lus- 
trous, and  the  unfashionable  skirt  swept  in 
billowy  folds  about  the  slender  figure, 
which  continued  to  twist  and  turn  from 
side  to  side  before  the  cracked  mirror. 

The  crack  curiously  interrupted  and 
diversified  the  view,  so  that  Miss  Philura 

[  3  ] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

saw,  as  it  were,  her  small  person  in  sec- 
tions, like  an  imperfectly  constructed  pic- 
ture puzzle.  But  when  one  has  used  an 
article,  however  imperfect,  for  a  matter 
of  thirty  years,  one  learns  to  make  allow- 
ances. 

Nevertheless  and  also  notwithstanding, 
Miss  Philura  presently  divested  herself  of 
the  black  and  purple  gown  with  a  pensive 
sigh. 

"  If  only  it  wasn't  black  —  and  pur- 
ple," she  murmured,  "  and  if  the  leaves 
weren't  so  large  and  —  creepy." 

Miss  Philura  sighed  a  second  time,  as 
she  took  from  the  table  a  violet-tinted 
sheet  of  note  paper,  exhaling  the  odour  of 
violets,  both  colour  and  perfume  being 
particularly  affected  by  the  writer  of  the 
words  scrawled  in  loose,  fashionable  char- 
acters across  the  page. 

"  My    dear    Philura," —  she    read    for 
the  second  time  —  "  I  own  that  I  was  ex- 
ceedingly  surprised,  I  might  almost  say 
[  4  ] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

shocked  to  learn  of  your  contemplated 
marriage  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Pettibone. 
Had  3'ou  seen  fit  to  consult  me  before  tak- 
ing so  serious  a  step  I  should  have  advised 
strongly  against  it.  Your  life,  passed  as 
it  has  been  amid  humble  surroundings, 
and  with  the  very  limited  means  of  culture 
and  improvement  I  have  been  able  to  af- 
ford you  from  time  to  time,  during  your 
brief  stays  at  my  home  in  Boston,  have 
hardly  fitted  you  (in  my  opinion)  for  the 
very  grave  responsibilities  you  appear  so 
eager  to  assume. 

"  Let  me  implore  you,  before  it  Is  too 
late,  to  withdraw  from  the  false  position 
in  which  you  find  yourself.  At  your  time 
of  life,  my  dear  Philura,  there  can  be  no 
jomantic  Ideas  concerning  love  and  mar- 
riage, which  sometimes  serve  as  an  excuse 
for  more  youthful  follies.  Should  you, 
however,  ignore  my  advice,  as  I  fear  — 
you  will  incur  the  very  grave  risk  attend- 
ant upon  marriage  with  an  elderly  wid- 

[  5  ] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

ower  (as  I    understand  Mr.  Pettibone  to 
be)  with  your  eyes  open. 

"  I  am  sending  you  with  this  an  out- 
worn gown  of  my  own,  which,  should  you 
persist  in  rushing  in  where  angels  fear  to 
tread,  will  make  over  into  a  suitable  dress 
for  the  occasion  of  the  marriage." 

This  missive,  which  jNIiss  Philura  pe- 
rused with  a  faint  frown  between  her  child- 
ish brows,  was  signed,  "  I  am,  my  dear 
Philura,  most  sincerely  yours,  Caroline  P. 
Van  Duser." 

The  time  had  been,  and  that  not  so  long 
since,  when  Miss  Philura  would  have  been 
utterly  annihilated,  crushed,  beaten  and 
routed  from  any  position  whatsoever  by 
such  a  letter,  signed  with  the  authoritative 
name,  Caroline  P.  Van  Duser.  Now  she 
folded  the  sheet  with  brisk  motions  of 
her  roughened  finger-tips,  returned  it  to 
its  envelope  with  a  little  laugh.  Then, 
still  brisk  and  smiling,  she  hung  the  rus- 
tling brocade  away  in  her  closet. 
[  6  ] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

On  the  way  downstairs  she  even 
hummed  a  verse  of  an  ancient  hymn,  which 
had  clung  to  her  memory  ever  since  a 
memorable  Sunday  marking  the  beginning 
of  the  marvellous  new  experience  which 
had  blossomed  in  the  bleak  and  barren 
waste  of  her  existence. 

"  God's  purposes  will  ripen  fast, 
Unfolding  every  hour; 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste 
But  sweet  will  be  the  flower^" 

she  sang  under  her  breath. 

Miss  Philura's  blue  eyes  were  very 
bright,  her  thin  cheeks  very  pink,  as  she 
proceeded  to  set  her  tiny  rooms  in  the  per- 
fection of  cleanliness  and  order  which  re- 
minded one  of  the  interior  of  a  wave- 
washed  shell  or  the  heart  of  a  morning- 
glory  newly  opened  to  the  sun.  It  was  a 
shabby  little  house,  within  and  without, 
but  the  ancient  furniture  reflected  the 
bright  light  of  the  November  day  in  pol- 
[   7   ] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

ished  surfaces,  and  even  the  worn  rag 
rugs  on  the  floor  exhibited  rich  and  subtle 
blendings  of  colour,  not  unlike  those  of  an 
eastern  prajer-rug. 

When  all  was  finished  Miss  Philura 
washed  her  hands  and  dried  them  care- 
fully on  the  roller-towel  behind  the  kitchen 
door.  Then  she  sat  down  by  the  window 
and  glanced  shyly  out  between  the  green 
leaves  of  the  newly  potted  geraniums. 
The  trees  were  swept  bare  of  leaves  in  the 
gales  of  early  November  so  that  one  could 
see,  clearly  silhouetted  against  the  daz- 
zling blue  of  the  sky,  the  slender  steeple 
of  the  Presbyterian  church.  Next  to  the 
church,  half  hid  in  sombre  evergreens,  was 
the  parsonage.  Miss  Philura  blushed  del- 
icately as  she  gazed,  her  thin  hands 
clasped  with  the  rapture  of  her  thoughts. 

Only  six  months  and  what  changes  had 

come  over  her  life.     She  must  needs  pity 

the  Miss  Philura  of  that  unthinkable  time 

when  nobody  loved  her,  and  she  had  faced 

[  8] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

a  dreary  vista  of  days,  monotonously 
alike,  beginning  with  half-hearted  prayers 
to  what  she  fancied  a  cold-hearted,  criti- 
cal Judge,  seated  aloft  in  a  distant  heaven 
all  gold  and  glittering  gems;  then  had 
come  the  revelation.  And  after  all,  it 
had  come  about  through  Cousin  Caroline 
Van  Duser. 

Miss  Philura  recalled  for  the  thou- 
sandth time  the  day  she  had  made  herself 
ready  to  accompany  Mrs.  Van  Duser  to 
the  Ontological  Club  in  Boston.  She  pic- 
tured with  positive  relish  her  shrinking 
self,  seated  meekly  opposite  the  magnifi- 
cent person  of  Mrs.  J.  Mortimer  Van 
Duser,  wearing  the  ill-fitting  dress  of 
black  alpaca,  and  the  obsolete  bonnet 
tied  primly  under  her  chin. 

"  And  my  hair ! "  she  murmured,  ad- 
dressing her  maltese  cat,  who  was  watch- 
ing her  with  a  reflective  gleam  in  his  jewel- 
like eyes.  "  Do  you  remember,  Mortimer, 
how  I  used  to  fix  my  hair  ?  " 
[  9  ] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

The  name  of  Miss  Philura's  cat  marked 
her  one  previous  ebulition  of  what  she  had 
sadly  recognised  as  that  phase  of  char- 
acter known  in  theological  circles  as  "  un- 
regenerate  human  nature."  But  the  cat 
had  so  resembled  the  husband  of  Mrs.  J. 
Mortimer  Van  Duser,  with  his  cold,  cal- 
culating eyes,  his  feline  neatness  of  per- 
son, his  well-tended  whiskers  and  the  ter- 
rifying gaze  he  was  wont  to  bestow  upon 
her  small  self,  when  at  infrequent  inter- 
vals she  appeared  at  his  hospitable  board. 
The  inevitable  meeting  with  that  awe-in- 
spiring millionaire  (who  had  the  honour 
of  calling  Mrs.  Caroline  P.  Van  Duser  his 
wife)  was  almost  enough  to  deter  one 
from  seeking  light  and  culture  in  the  un- 
deniable centre  of  all  light  and  culture. 

Mr.  J.  Mortimer  Van  Duser  never  ap- 
peared to  remember  her  from  one  visit  to 
the  next,  and  merely  growled  (like  a  cat 
over  a  mouse,  Miss  Philura  could  not  help 
thinking)  when  Mrs.  Van  Duser  drew  his 
[10] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gozvn 

inscrutable    gaze   upon    herself,    with   the 
majestic  words: 

"  You  will  remember  my  third  cousin, 
Philura  Rice,  Mortimer?  I  felt  that  it 
was  my  duty  to  afford  Philura  the  oppor- 
tunity of  attending  the  course  of  lectures 
on  the  Proper  Attitude  of  the  Masses  to 
the  Classes,  which,  owing  to  other  engage- 
ments, I  am  unable  to  attend." 

So  she  had  called  her  grey  kitten  Mor- 
timer in  a  spirit  of  uncharitable  reprisal 
which  made  her  positively  afraid  to  say 
her  prayers  for  two  whole  days.  As  for 
Mortimer,  he  had  grown  into  a  stately, 
dignified  personage  of  a  cat,  whose  green 
eyes  frequently  assumed  the  veritable  ex- 
pression of  the  Boston  millionaire,  and 
Miss  Philura  continued  to  call  him  Morti- 
mer, as  has  been  stated. 

If  Mortimer  remembered  how  Miss  Phi- 
lura used  to  arrange  her  hair,  he  made  no 
response.  Instead  he  yawned  discreetly, 
his  pink  tongue  curling  back  between  his 

[11] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

cruel,    sharp-pointed    teeth    like    a    leaf. 

"  I  was  a  fright,  Morty  dear,"  quoth 
Miss  Philura,  waxing  familiar  and  affec- 
tionate. "  I  am  sure  he  never  would  have 
thought  of  —  of  —  loving  me,  with  my 
hair  combed  back  tight  and  done  up  in  a 
hard  knot !  " 

Mortimer  turned  his  back  upon  his  mis- 
tress, and  wound  himself  into  a  graceful 
coil  of  grey  fur  breathing  selfish  comfort. 
His  opinion  on  the  subject  of  ]\Iiss  Phi- 
lura's  coiffure  he  kept  to  himself. 

"  If  I  hadn't  found  out,"  pursued  Miss 
Philura,  her  wistful  eyes  on  the  parsonage 
roof,  which  peeped  at  her  through  a  pair 
of  dormer  windows,  "  about  the  Encir- 
cling Good,  I  should  never  —  " 

She  broke  off  with  a  little  laugh. 

"  And  here  I  am  worrying  —  actually 
worrying  about  my  wedding-dress  !  " 

A  brisk  jingle  of  the  feeble  door-bell  in- 
terrupted the  little  lady's  further  cogita- 
tions. She  hurried  to  answer  it,  a  becom- 
[12] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Goivn 

ing  colour  in  her  cheeks.  One  could  nevei 
tell  when  Mr.  Pettibone  (she  hadn't  been 
able  yet  to  bring  herself  to  call  him  Silas) 
might  call. 

But  it  wasn't  the  minister's  tall  figure 
which  confronted  her  on  the  door-step, 
but  a  woman,  clad  in  a  heavy  woolen  shawl. 
She  wore  coarse  blue  mittens  like  those 
of  a  man,  and  a  wing  of  snowy  hair  folded 
her  rough  red  cheeks  on  either  side. 

Miss  Philura's  colour  faded  a  little  as 
her  eyes  fell  upon  the  quaint  figure. 

"  Good    morning,    Huldah,"    she    said. 

a  T J5 

"Here's   your  butter,   miss,"   said   the. 
woman,    thrusting    a    small    package   into 
Miss  Philura's  unwilling  hand. 

Her  black  eyes  snapped  and  she  nodded 
her  head  vigorously. 

"  It's  good  enough  for  Queen  Victory,  if 
she  was  livin'  to  eat  it,  an'  so  I  guess  it's 
good  enough  for  you." 

"  But,  Huldah,"  quavered  Miss  Philura, 
[  13  ] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

"I  —  I  know  it's  good.     I  —  never  found 
fault  with  the  butter." 

Miss  Philura  bethought  herself  that  she 
was  going  to  marry  the  minister,  and  drew 
herself  up  with  gracious  dignity  as  she 
added, 

"  Your  butter,  Huldah,  is  excellent  — 
excellent.     But  I  have  thought  it  best  for 
• —  my  health  to  refrain  from  eating  but- 
ter for  the  present." 

The  butter  woman  fixed  her  bright, 
bird-like  eyes  upon  Miss  Philura. 

"  Butter's  fattening,"  she  said  at  last. 

"Fattening?"  echoed  Miss  Philura 
weakly.     "  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is." 

"  You'd  ought  to  eat  it,"  pursued  the 
butter  woman,  "  you'd  ought  to  eat  a  good 
an'  plenty  of  it,  three  times  a  day." 

She  nodded  at  Miss  Philura,  as  if  to 
defy  her  to  prove  the  contrary. 

A  delicate  colour  fluttered  in  Miss  Phi- 
lura's  cheeks. 

"  Then  you  think  —  "  she  murmured. 
[14] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gousn 

"They  like  'em  fat,"  said  the  butter 
woman,  still  defiant.  "  Don't  I  know  'em? 
They  like  'em  round  and  plump  an'  soft 
an'  smooth.'* 

"  I  don't  think  I  understand  you,  Hul- 
dah,"  said  Miss  Philura,  very  dignified  in- 
deed, though  still  gracious. 

"  Minister's  ain't  no  different  from  other 
men,  as  I  know  of,"  insisted  the  butter 
woman. 

She  waved  her  hand  conclusively. 

"  You   ain't  no   fatter   'an   that   poker, 


ma'am." 


"  It  —  it's  quite  fashionable  to  be 
slender,  Huldah,"  said  Miss  Philura,  al- 
most piteously. 

She  gazed  sidewise  at  the  poker,  stand- 
ing stifHy  beside  the  fireless  grate,  its 
brazen  head  reflecting  the  light  in  its  pol- 
ished surface. 

"I  —  I  should  dislike  to  be  really 
fat,  you  know." 

The  butter  woman  stood  up,  with  the 
[15] 


Miss  Fhilura^s  Wedding  Gown 

air  of  one  who  has  finished  argument  and 
downed  dispute.  She  drew  from  under  her 
shawl  a  basket,  and  from  the  basket  she 
produced  and  laid  upon  the  table,  each 
with  a  defiant  thump,  a  plump  chicken,  a 
roll  of  butter,  and  a  dozen  eggs  in  a  paper 
bag. 

"  Now  these  'ere  things,"  she  said,  in  a 
tone  which  brooked  no  denial,  "  I  want 
you  should  eat.  Don't  you  go  to  carry- 
ing broth  to  nobody,  ner  yet  eggs,  ner  yet 
butter." 

"  But,  Huldah,  I  —  Oh,  they  look  very 
nice,  but  —  " 

"  Don't  I  know  you're  gettin'  ready  t' 
be  married?  An'  o'  course  you  don't 
think  o'  nothin'  else,  momin',  noon  an' 
night.  I  can't  give  you  no  silver  spoons 
fer  a  weddin'  present,  though  land  knows 
I'd  like  to,  with  your  ma  biiyin'  butter  o' 
me  fer  a  matter  o'  ten  years  stiddy,  an' 
you  never  missin'  your  half  pound  a  week 
since  she  was  laid  away  eight  years  come 
[16] 


Miss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

April.  So  if  you'll  take  a  pound  or  two 
from  me  —  it  ought  to  be  five  at  the  very 
least  —  fer  a  weddin'  present,  why  —  !  " 

Miss  Philura's  blue  eyes  filled  with  sud- 
den tears. 

"  How  kind  and  good  of  you  to  have 
thought  of  it,  Huldah.  Thank  you  a 
thousand  times ! " 

She  took  the  butter  woman's  toil  hard- 
ened hand  in  both  her  own  and  squeezed 
it  gratefully. 

"  There,  there !  it  ain't  nothin'  'n'  with 
me  a  churnin'  twice  in  the  week,  an'  chick- 
ens fairly  under  foot.  I'm  comin'  again  a 
week  from  to-day,  an'  I  wan't  t'  see  you  a 
mite  heavier  'an  you  be  now." 

She  felt  Miss  Philura's  fragile  little  arm 
with  an  experienced  thumb  and  finger,  and 
eyed  her  appraisingly. 

"  A  matter  o'  ten  pounds  wouldn't  do  no 
harm,"  she  murmured.  "  Well,  my  ad- 
vice t'  you  is,  lay  abed  mornings,  and  eat 
es  hearty  es  you  kin.  Land!  I'd  fatten 
[17] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

you,  if  I'd  jest  have  you  under  my  eye 
fer  a  while." 

She  pinned  her  shawl  together  with  an 
energetic  stab  of  a  black  headed  pin. 

"  When's  the  weddin' .?  "  she  demanded 
gruffly. 

"  Why,  we  hope  —  we  expect  it  will  be 
on  Thanksgiving  Day,"  faltered  Miss  Phi- 
lura,  trembling  visibly,  in  view  of  the  near 
approach  of  her  great  happiness. 

The  butter  woman  stared  past  the 
blushing,  wistful  face. 

"  On  Thanksgiving  Dav,"  she  muttered. 
"  On  Thanksgiving  Day." 

"  Perhaps  you  think  it  an  odd  day  to 
be  married  on,"  Miss  Philura's  gentle 
voice  went  on,  "  but  Mr.  Pettibone's  con- 
gregation seemed  to  think  that  they  ought 
all  to  be  invited  to  the  wedding.  We 
should  have  liked  it  to  be  very  quiet,  but 
there  was  some  feeling  —  Mr.  Pettibone 
says.  So  we  thought  as  the  church  would 
have  to  be  opened  and  warmed  on  Thanks- 
[18] 


Aliss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

giving  Day  —  for  the  regular  services. 
you  know  —  "^hy,  it  might  be  as  well  to 
take  advantage  —  " 

The  butter  woman  did  not  appear  to 
be  listening.  She  fetched  a  great  sigh, 
and  shook  her  broad  shoulders. 

''  Oh,  well,"  she  said,  "  there's  no  use 
to  be  harkin'  back  to  what's  past  an' 
gone.  But  it's  hard  not  to  be  doin'  it, 
when  the  summer's  over  an'  gone  an' 
naught  remains  but  dead  leaves  blowin' 
hither  an'  yon." 

"  The  cold  weather  seems  to  be  setting 
in  early  this  year,"  offered  Miss  Philura 
vaguely. 

Her  thoughts  had  reverted  once  more 
to  the  purple  and  black  brocade,  hanging 
in  her  wardrobe  upstairs. 

The  butter  woman  was  looking  at  her 
keenly,  her  mouth  puckered  into  a  half 
smile. 

''  Whatever  you  do,"  she  said  briskly, 
"  lav  abed  an'  eat  —  eat  hearty  betwixt 
[19] 


Mdss  Philura^s   Wedding  Gown 

now  an'  Thanksgivin'  Day,  They  ain't 
nothin'  he'll  like  so  well." 

Miss  Philura  looked  puzzled. 

"  You  mean  —  ?  "  she  began. 

The  butter  woman  nodded,  her  bright 
eyes  half  hid  in  wrinkles  of  mirth. 

"  The'  ain't  a  man  livin'  as  likes  t'  marry 
a  livin'  skelton,  ner  yet  a  bag  o'  bones. 
They  like  'em  nice  an'  fat." 

With  which  she  darted  down  the  steps, 
climbed  into  her  wagon  and  drove  away, 
before  Miss  Philura  had  done  blushing. 


[20] 


n 


All  the  world  is  said  to  love  a  lover; 
but  there  are  "  ifs  "  and  "  buts  "  and 
sundry  exceptions  to  this  as  to  every  other 
sweeping  statement  of  a  more  or  less  gen- 
eral truth. 

For  example,  Miss  Electa  Pratt,  en- 
gaged in  wringing  out  her  dish-cloth,  with 
hard  twists  of  her  bony  fingers,  felt  no 
soft  emotions  of  affection  welling  up  in 
her  virgin  bosom  as  she  caught  sight  of 
Philura  Rice  hurrying  past  the  house,  her 
small  figure  bent  against  the  roaring  wind 
that  swept  the  fallen  leaves  into  miniature 
whirlpools,  and  lashed  the  leafless  branches 
overhead. 

Miss  Philura  was  clutching  at  her  hat 

brim  with  one  shabbily  gloved  hand,  and 

it  was  this  fact,  simple  and  natural  as  it 

was,  which  brought  Miss  Pratt  into  the 

[21] 


Mdss  Fhilura^s   Wedding  Gown 

maternal  presence,  placidly  engaged  in 
knitting  out  of  blue  wool  what  she  was 
pleased  to  term  a  fascinator ;  the  fascina- 
tor in  question  was  intended  for  the  sole 
use  of  Electa ;  but  the  fact  did  not  soften 
the  asperity  of  that  lady's  tones  as  she 
said, 

"  If  there  ain't  Philura  Rice,  a-hangin' 
ont'  that  hat  o'  hern  for  dear  life." 

"  You  don't  say,  Lecty,"  observed  Mrs. 
Pratt,  to  the  busy  tune  of  her  needles. 
"  Well  now,  I  guess  the  wind's  a-blowin' 
some  this  mornin',  ain't  it?  I've  been 
listenin'  to  it  roarin'  dow^n  the  chimbly. 
It  reminds  me  of  the  day  your  pa  passed 
away." 

Mrs.  Pratt  was  considered  perversely 
charitable  by  her  daughter,  who  w^as  in 
the  habit  of  telling  everybody  that  ma  was 
failing  right  along,  and  that  since  her  last 
annual  attack  of  grippe  she  wasn't  quite 
right  in  her  mind. 

"  I'd  laugh  if  them  feathers  o'  hern  got 
[22] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

carried  away,"  said  Miss  Electa  vindic- 
tively.    "  It  would  serve  her  right," 

"  Fer  gettin'  the  minister  away  from 
you,  I  s'pose,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  But 
land !  I  don't  think  he'd  a  thought  o'  such 
a  thing  as  marryin'  you,  Lecty." 

"  There  you  go  again,  ma,"  cried  Miss 
Pratt,  justly  incensed.  "  How  many 
times  have  I  got  to  tell  you  that  I 
wouldn't  marry  Silas  Pettibone,  not  if  he 
was  the  last  man  on  earth.  Now  you  hear 
me.  Ma  Pratt;  an'  don't  you  das'  t'  say 
anything  like  that  t'  Mis'  Puffer,  if  she 
runs  in,  or  t'  anybody  else.     The  i-de-a!  " 

Mrs.  Pratt  was  counting  stiches. 

"  Knit  ten ;  purl  five,"  she  murmured. 
"  Did  you  say  you  was  goin'  down  t'  th' 
post-office,  daughter,  t'  git  the  '  Best 
Idea  '  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma,"  replied  Miss  Electa,  aware 

of  the  value  of  a  change  of  thought.     "  If 

Mis'  Puffer  or  ]\Iis'  Buckthorne  come  in, 

tell  'em  I  won't  be  gone  ten  minutes.     I'll 

[23] 


Mdss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

bring    you    some    pep'mints    if    you  — " 
She  had  almost  said  "  if  you'll  be  good." 
But     a     glance     into     the     meek,     softly 
wrinkled  old  face  deterred  her  somehow. 

"  Mother's  awful  contrary  lately,"  she 
cogitated  as  she  hurried  down  the  street, 
bent  upon  overtaking  the  wind-swept  fig- 
ure of  Miss  Philura. 

"  She's  goin'  t'  the  store !  "  said  Miss 
Pratt  under  her  breath,  and  she  hurried 
faster  than  before. 

Just  why  she  so  strongly  desired  to  see 
with  her  own  eyes  what  Philura  Rice  was 
about  to  purchase  at  George  Trimmer's 
Dry-goods  Emporium,  doubtless  with  a 
view  to  her  approaching  marriage.  Electa 
Pratt  could  not  possibly  have  told ;  but 
the  desire  was  there  and  it  urged  her  on. 
However,  she  was  doomed  to  disappoint- 
ment ;  Miss  Philura  emerged  from  the 
shop  just  as  her  friend.  Miss  Pratt,  came 
abreast  of  it,  serene  and  smiling,  and  car- 
[24] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

rying  in  one  hand  a  small,  a  very  small 
parcel. 

"  Good-morning,  Electa,"  was  Miss  Phi- 
lura's  greeting. 

But  she  seemed  disposed  to  hurry  away 
in  the  opposite  direction. 

Miss  Pratt  linked  herself  to  the  bride- 
elect  with  prompt  decision. 

"  My !  I  haven't  seen  you  for  an  age," 
she  began.  "  I've  been  over  to  your  house 
twice  lately,  when  I  was  most  sure  you  was 
home,  an'  rang  an'  rang." 

Miss  Philura  blushed  guiltily. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  she  and  Mr. 
Pettibone  had  been  snugly  ensconced  be- 
hind the  geraniums  in  her  little  parlour, 
and  ]Mr.  Pettibone  had  (she  blushed  a 
deeper  pink  to  think  of  it)  merely  tight- 
ened the  clasp  of  his  arm  about  her  waist 
and  remarked: 

"  It's  Electa  Pratt ;  we  don't  want  to 
see  her.     Let  her  ring !  " 

It  had  seemed  almost  irreligious  to  Miss 
[25] 


Mdss  Philura^s   Wedding  Gown 

Philura.  Never  in  her  life  had  she  dared 
to  disobey  that  peremptory  summons. 
But  she  had  sat  quite  still  while  the  bell 
jangled  spitefully  under  Electa's  deter- 
mined hand. 

"  I  was  most  sure  I  saw  the  minister  go 
int'  your  house  not  ten  minutes  before," 
went  on  Miss  Pratt.  "  I  was  over  t'  Mis' 
Buckthorne's,  an'  we  both  saw  him." 

"  M  —  m,"  murmured  Miss  Philura. 
"  Perhaps  I  —  perhaps  my  door-bell  • —  " 

"  You  needn't  bother  t'  tell  another  lie 
t'  me,  Philura  Rice,"  intoned  Miss  Pratt. 

"  Another  —  What  do  you  mean, 
Electa?" 

"  I  never  said  one  word  about  it  to  you 
before,"  said  Miss  Pratt  firmly,  "  but  I'm 
goin'  to  now.  Do  you  remember  telling 
me  you  was  engaged  to  be  married  last 
spring,  just  after  you  come  back  from 
visitin'  your  relations  in  Boston?" 

Miss  Philura  drew  a  deep  sigh. 

"I  —  I  would  rather  not  —  talk  about 
[261 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 
it,     Electa.     I  —  you     wouldn't     under* 


stand. 


5J 


"Oh,  wouldn't  I?"'  retorted  Miss 
Pratt.  *•  Well,  I  can  try  anyhow.  We 
was  comin'  out  of  church ;  it  was  the  Sun- 
day you  first  come  out  in  that  new  suit  of 
yours  an'  that  hat  with  feathers 
—  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  want  to  wear 
'em  out  in  a  wind  like  this ;  they  look  all 
frazzled  out." 

Miss  Philura  straightened  herself. 

"  If  these  feathers  are  spoiled  I  can 
have  others,"  she  said. 

Miss  Pratt  cackled  derision. 

"  That's  just  the  way  you  talked  be- 
fore," she  said.  *'  I  sez  t'  you,  '  Every- 
body says  you've  had  money  left  to  you. 
an'  that  you're  goin'  t'  get  married,'  I 
sez.  An'  you  sez,  '  I've  got  all  the  money 
I  need,'  you  sez,  *  an'  I'm  engaged  t'  be 
married.'  " 

Miss  Philura's  blue  eyes  gazed  almost 
defiantly  into  Electa  Pratt's  green  ones. 
[27] 


Mdss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  know  I  said  it. 
It  was  true  1  —  every  word  true." 

A  singular  radiance  overspread  her  del- 
icate face  transfiguring  it  for  a  moment 
into  beauty. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  was  en- 
gaged to  be  married  to  Mr.  Pettibone 
when  you  said  that  to  me,  Philura  Rice? 
Be  careful!  " 

"  You  went  to  see  Mr.  Pettibone  after- 
ward and  told  him  what  I  said,"  returned 
Miss  Philura  unexpectedly.    "  And  he  — " 

"  He  said  it  wasn't  so." 

Miss  Pratt  threw  up  her  chin  aggres- 
sively. 

"  An'  what's  more,  ^^our  cousin  Van 
Duser  said  it  wasn't  so.  She  said  you 
didn't  have  money  left  you  and  that  you 
weren't  goin'  t'  be  married.     So  there!  " 

Miss  Philura  pondered,  her  eyes  upon 

the  small  paper  parcel  in  her  hand.     Then 

she  turned   suddenly,  almost  breathlessly, 

upon  the  spinster,  whose  attitude  and  ex- 

[28] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Goivn 

pression  reminded  her  irresistibly  of  Mor- 
timer's at  the  moment  of  pouncing  upon 
an  unlucky  mouse. 

"  Electa,"  she  said  tremulously,  "  you 
aren't  very  happy,  are  you?  " 

"Happy?"  echoed  Miss  Pratt. 
"  Happy  —  me?  Huh !  I'd  like  to  know 
what  that's  got  to  do  with  your  telling 
me  —  " 

"  It's  got  everything  to  do  with  it," 
said  Miss  Philura.  "  If  you'd  only  under- 
stand ;  but  I'm  afraid  you  wouldn't,  even 
if  I  — " 

"  That's  the  second  time  you've  said 
that,"  remarked  Miss  Pratt  acidly. 
"  When  it  comes  to  understanding,  I  guess 
I'm  pretty  near  as  smart  as  some  other 
folks  I  could  mention." 

"  Oh,  I  know  I'm  not  clever  at  all. 
Electa ;  I  didn't  mean  that." 

"  Well,  what  did  you  mean?  I'd  really 
like  to  hear  what  you've  got  to  say  fer 
yourself.  An'  I  ain't  the  only  one,  you'll 
[29] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

find.     There's    plenty    of    folks    that's    as 
much  in  the  dark  as  I  be." 

The  cat-like  gleam  in  Miss  Pratt's  eyes 
was  lost  upon  Miss  Philura,  who  was  won- 
dering if  she  ought  to  lay  bare  the  wonder- 
ful secret  which  she  bore  about  enshrined 
in  her  inmost  heart  like  a  jewel  of  price. 
After  all,  was  not  Electa  like  her  lonely, 
unhappy  self  of  half  a  year  ago?  And 
had  she  any  right  to  withhold  the  cer- 
tainty of  happiness  from  Electa.? 

Miss  Pratt  licked  her  lips. 

"  Don't  hesitate  to  speak  right  out, 
Philura,"  she  said  acidly.  "  How  any- 
body'd  dare  to  say  they  was  engaged  be- 
fore the  man  proposed  is  what  beats  me." 

Miss  Philura  was  gazing  at  her  parcel. 

"  It  was  because  —  he  —  he  was  in  the 
Encircling  Good,  Electa.  I  knew  I  was 
going  to  be  married  because  I  —  I  he- 
lieved.     But  I  didn't  —  I  didn't  know  —  " 

Miss  Pratt  stared. 

"  He    was    in     the  —  what  ?"     she    de- 
[30] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

manded.      "  What   in   the   world    are   you 
talking  about  ?  " 

Miss  Philura  experienced  a  wild  desire 
to  run  away. 

"  Some  other  time,  Electa,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  If  you  could  only  hear  Mrs. 
Smart  lecture  —  you  might  do  that,  you 
know.     I  can't  explain. 

"  If  you  don't  want  me  to  think  you're 
raving  crazy,  Philura  Rice,  you'll  explain, 
as  you  call  it,  this  minute!  " 

Miss  Philura  turned  her  face  away  from 
her  inquisitor.  It  appeared  more  and 
more  impossible  to  tell  Electa  Pratt  about 
the  All-encircling  Good.  And  yet  it  was 
her  duty.  She  had  been  brought  face  to 
face  with  it.  She  was  almost  ashamed  to 
remember  at  that  moment  a  verse  about 
pearls  and  swine. 

"  You  are  not  —  " 

One  acquires  the  habit  of  thinking  aloud 
during  years  of  solitude.      She  had  almost 
said,  "  You  are  not  a  swine,  Electa." 
[31] 


Mhs  TJizlurd's   Wedding  Gown 

'  I'm  nobody's  fool,  if  that's  what  you 
iri.  i.ii,  Philura,"  Miss  Pratt  observed  ap- 
poiiitely. 

"  I  know  you're  not,  Electa,"  Miss  Phi- 
lura agreed  eagerly. 

Then  she  gathered  courage. 

"  When  I  was  in  Boston,  I  went  with 
Cousin  Caroline  Van  Duser  to  hear  a  lec- 
ture at  the  Ontological  Club,  and  —  " 

"  Uh-huh  !  "  sniffed  Miss  Pratt. 

"  It  was  all  about  the  Encircling  Good 
-  —  God,  '  All  is  God,  God  is  all,'  "  quoted 
Miss  Philura. 

"  I  had  never  thought  of  such  a  thing, 
Electa.  It  always  seemed  to  me  God 
was  up  high  —  somewhere,  and  that  He 
was  always  displeased  with  everything  I 
did.  But  in  the  lecture  I  found  out  that 
I  was  mistaken.  God  is  so  kind  — 
so  generous.  If  we  just  ask  Him  for 
w^hat  we  want,  and  then  believe  that  we 
have;  why,  it  is  ours  already." 

"  And  you  believed  all  that  stuff,  Phi- 
[32] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gozun 

lura   Rice,    and   you    a   church-member?  " 
"  It's  in  the  Bible,"  said  Miss  Philura 
stoutly.     "  It's  true  —  all  true." 

Miss  Pratt  was  engaged  in  the  purely 
rational  process  of  putting  two  and  two 
together.  She  arrived  presently  at  the 
correct  result. 

"  I  begin  to  see,"  she  observed,  with 
carefully  veiled  sarcasm.  "  You  thought 
you'd  like  some  fine  new  clothes  and  a  — 
husband.      So  you  —  " 

"  Oh,  Electa,  I'm  so  glad  I  told  you ! 
You  do  understand;  don't  you'  It's  so 
beautiful  —  so   wonderful." 

Miss  Pratt  snorted  with  mingled  rage 
and  amazement. 

"  Quite  wonderful,  I  should  remark  — 
and  so  simple.  But  I  don't  see  yet  how 
you  caught  the  parson." 

Miss  Philura  looked  up  swiftly. 
"  You  —  you're  making  fun  of  —  God," 
she  said  brokenly.     "  Oh,  I  wish  I  hadn't 
told  you !  " 

[33] 


Miss  Fhilura^s   Wedding  Gown 

Miss  Pratt  burst  into  a  short,  dry 
laugh. 

"  I  never  heard  o'  such  nonsense  in  all 
my  life,"  she  cried.  "  It's  downright 
wicked ;  that's  what  it  is.  You'd  ought  t' 
be  put  out  o'  the  church  instead  of  settin' 
up  as  a  minister's  wife.  The  i-de-a  of 
talkin'  such  stuff,  an'  actually  believin' 
it." 

"  It's  in  the  Bible,"  said  Miss  Philura 
weakly,  and  the  wind  snatched  the  words 
and  carried  them  away  like  dead  leaves. 

"  There's  nothin'  about  silk  petticoats 
an'  ostridge  feathers  an'  gettin'  engaged 
in  my  Bible,"  retorted  Miss  Pratt,  her 
reddened  nose  uplifted  in  chaste  protest 
to  an  outraged  heaven.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  what  Elder  Trimmer  an'  Deacon 
Scrimger  an'  Mis'  Deaconess  Buckthorne 
an' —  I  was  goin'  t'  say  our  pastor  — 
Does  he  know  what  you  heard  in  that 
wicked  club  ?  " 

Miss  Philura  was  not  a  very  astute 
[34] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

person;  but  for  once  she  could  not  help 
seeing  the  drift  of  Electa  Pratt's  remarks. 
"  Mr.  Pettlbone,"  she  said  firmly,  "  is 
not  in  any  way  responsible  for  my  inter- 
pretations of  the  Bible." 

Then  having  reached  her  own  corner, 
she  parted  from  Miss  Pratt  with  an  air 
of  dignity  and  decision,  which  only  partly 
hid  her  real  perturbation  of  spirit. 

The  grey  cat,  Mortimer,  arose  from  the 
door-step,  where  he  had  been  awaiting  her 
return,  and  stretched  his  sinewy  fur-clad 
limbs.  His  green  eyes  grew  greedily 
wide,  as  he  spied  the  parcel  in  his  mis- 
tress' hand. 

"  No,  Morty  dear,"  said  Miss  Philura ; 

"  it  isn't  meat." 

Then  her  anxious  face  brightened,  as 
she  remembered  the  plump  chicken,  the 
eggs  and  butter  reposing  in  the  kitchen 
cupboard. 

"  It  was  only  yesterday,"  she  mur- 
mured, "that  I  was  wondering  —  no 
[35} 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

thinking  about  our  dinner,  Morty,  and  I 
—  mentioned  it  to  God  —  just  mentioned 
it,  because,  you  know,  our  Father  knoweth 
that  we  have  need  of  all  these  things." 

She  lifted  the  big  cat  in  her  thin  little 
arms. 

"  You  shall  have  a  chicken  wing  to-day, 
Morty,"  she  whispered  in  his  furry  ear. 

Mortimer  purred  loudly,  quite  as  if  he 
understood.  Then  it  was  that  Miss  Phi- 
lura  noticed  the  bunch  of  white  chrys- 
anthemums laid  against  the  door. 

She  lifted  them,  a  wistful  pink  staining 
her  cheeks.  Nowhere  except  in  the  par- 
sonage garden  did  chrysanthemums  grow 
in  such  snowy  perfection. 

"  He  has  been  here,"  was  her  unspoken 
thought,  a  swift  wonder  crowding  her  re- 
gret, as  she  remembered  that  it  was  Satur- 
day, a  day  the  minister  always  spent  alone 
in  his  study. 

When  she  had  arranged  her  flowers  in 
water,  she  sat  down  by  the  table  and  gazed 
[36] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

Sit  them  almost  breathlessly.  No  one  in^ 
Innisfield,  not  even  the  misister,  suspected 
the  shy,  still  current  of  poetic  feeling  in 
Miss  Philura's  nature.  She  could  not 
possibly  have  put  it  into  words ;  but  some- 
thing in  the  ivory  white  of  the  curving 
petals,  lapped  softly  one  above  another, 
hiding  a  heart  of  gold,  spoke  to  her  of  her- 
self. All  summer  long,  while  rose  and 
hollyhock  and  a  host  of  lesser  blooms  had 
flaunted  gaily  in  the  sunshine,  the  chrysan- 
themums had  spread  their  dark  foliage  in: 
an  obscure  corner,  with  no  hint  of  bloom  ; 
but  now  — 

She  leaned  forward  and  touched  the 
flowers  with  her  lips. 

"  They  are  beautiful,  even  if  it  is  al- 
most winter,"  she  murmured. 

Then  she  opened  the  paper  bag  she 
had  brought  from  the  Trimmer  Em- 
porium, and  took  out  four  spools  of  white 
silk  thread  and  set  them  in  a  row  before 
the  flowers. 

[37] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

"Why  shouldn't  I?  "  she  asked  of  the 
surrounding  silence. 

Then  diligently,  like  the  woman  in  the 
parable,  she  searched  the  nooks  and  cor- 
ners of  her  memory  for  the  exact  words 
she  had  heard  at  the  Ontological  Club. 

"  '  The  unseen  Good  surrounds  us  on 
every  side  ' "  she  said  aloud.  " '  It 
presses  upon  us,  more  limitless,  more  in- 
exhaustible than  the  air  we  breathe  — 
In  the  Encircling  Good  is  already  pro- 
vided a  lavish  abundance  —  a  lavish  ahv/ii'- 
dance!  *  " 

Miss  Philura  paused  to  take  breath. 

" '  Of  everything  one  can  possibly  want. 
Desire  itself  is  God  —  Good  —  Love 
knocking  at  the  door  of  your  understand- 
ing. It  is  impossible  for  you  to  desire 
anything  that  is  not  already  your  own ! '  " 

Yet  like  every  other  wondrous  mystery 

in  all  the  world  this  unseen  Abundance  — 

this  All-encircling  Good  —  must  be  sought 

in  the   one   right  way.     It  was   a  magic 

[38] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

door,  requiring  the  magic  key  for  its  un- 
locking. 

Miss  Philura  gazed  at  the  four  white 
spools,  and  the  white  flowers,  so  lately 
emerged  from  the  Unseen  into  exquisite 
visibility. 

"  Oh,  God,"  she  prayed,  "  I  should  like 
a  white  wedding-dress  —  white  like  the 
chrysanthemums !  " 

After  a  breathless  little  pause  she 
added :     "  Thank  you,  God  !  " 

With  closed  eyes  she  beheld  the  as  yet 
invisible  wedding  garment,  white  with  the 
creamy  whiteness  of  flower  petals  closing 
softly  over  a  heart  of  gold.  Very  simple 
it  was,  —  yet  rich  and  smooth,  textured 
like  the  blossoms  that  come  just  before  the 
snow. 

That  evening,  when  the  Rev.  Silas 
Pettibone  —  having  conscientiously  com- 
pleted two  discourses  treating  respectively 
of  Sanctification  by  Faith  and  the  State 
of  the  Lost  after  Death  —  came  to  call 
[39] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

upon  Miss  Philura,  as  was  his  right  and 
privilege ;  he  found  that  little  lady  deep  in 
the  task  of  ripping  the  black  and  purple 
gown. 

*'  What  do  you  intend  to  do  with  that 
—  er  —  brocade  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Pettibone, 
searching  successfully  in  a  disused  corner 
of  his  theological  mind  for  a  proper  name 
for  the  stuff  which  lay  in  heavy  folds 
across  Miss  Philura's  lap. 

The  Rev.  Silas  Pettibone  had  kind, 
though  very  tired  looking  brown  eyes,  and 
the  dark  hair  above  his  forehead  was 
streaked  with  grey.  Miss  Philura  se- 
cretly considered  him  the  very  acme  of 
masculine  good  looks,  a  hint  of  her  opinion 
shone  in  her  demure  face  as  she  made 
answer. 

"  Cousin  Van  Duser  sent  it  to  me  for  a 
wedding  dress;  do  you  think  it  pretty?  " 

Mr.  Pettibone  surveyed  the  stuff  with  a 
new  interest.  He  took  a  fold  of  it  be- 
tween an  inexperienced  thumb  and  finger. 
[40] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

"  It  appears,"  he  said  cautiously,  "  to 
be  very  —  er  —  durable." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Miss  Philura,  "  I  thinrk 
it  will  wear  for  a  long  time,  and  it  is  lined 
with  beautiful  black  taffeta.  I  can  make 
two  dresses  and  a  coat  out  of  it." 

"  Hum-m,"  murmured  the  minister  non- 
committally,  gazing  at  the  large  black 
leaves  on  their  purple  background,  and 
striving  in  his  imperfect  masculine  way  to 
picture  to  himself  the  small  figure  of  Miss 
Philura  panoplied  in  such  a  vesture. 

"  It  was  —  er  —  very  kind  of  Mrs.  Van 
Duser  to  provide  for  the  —  "  he  began,  in 
somewhat  laboured  fashion. 

But  Miss  Philura  interrupted  him. 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  pretty  ?  "  she  de- 
manded, her  head  on  one  side,  an  unsus- 
pected ghost  of  a  dimple  peeping  at  him 
from  one  comer  of  her  lips.  "  Does  it 
look  like  me?  " 

Mr.  Pettibone  gazed  tranquilly  at  Miss 
Philura.  He  thought  her  very  sweet  and 
[41] 


Mus  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

good,  and  he  was  glad  she  was  coming  to 
live  in  the  desolate  parsonage.  Gladder, 
indeed,  than  he  had  ever  hoped  to  be  in 
his  bereaved  life. 

"Does  it?"  repeated  Miss  Philura. 

"  How,"  inquired  the  minister,  with  his 
deep,  wise  smile,  "  could  any  sort  of  a  gown 
look  like  you?  " 

He  paused  to  survey  once  more  Mrs. 
Van  Duser's  out-worn  gown,  so  munifi- 
cently bestowed  upon  the  dearest  little 
woman  in  the  world.  Then  he  smote  his 
knee  with  a  convincing  gesture. 

"  Certainly  not !  "  he  said  decidedly. 
"  By  no  means.  It  is  too  —  er  —  dark 
and  —  heavy,  and  —  no  ;  I  don't  like  it." 

He  looked  appealingly  at  Miss  Philura. 
What  did  she  want  him  to  say,  he  won- 
dered. And  had  he  blundered  into  the 
wrong  thing. 

"  I  confess  my  opinion  in  matters  of 
woman's  dress  is  of  very  little  value,"  he 
began  apologetically.  "  Perhaps  now  —  '^ 
[42] 


Do  yon.  know,"  she  said,      that  is  exactly 

what  I  thouiiht  about  it  " 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Govjn 

Miss  Philura  had  dropped  her  shining 
scissors  in  her  lap. 

"  Do  jou  know,"  she  said,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  has  just  made  a  dehghtful  dis- 
covery, "  that  i-:  exactly  what  I  thought 
about  it.  I  couldn't  bear  black  and  pur- 
ple for  a  wedding  dress ;  though  I  dare 
say  I  shan't  mind  wearing  it  to  church 
and  Ladies'  Aid  —  afterward." 

She  blushed  a  delicious  maidenly  blush 
under  his  observant  eyes.  Then  she 
leaned  forward  and  touched  his  hand. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you,"  she  said  breath- 
lessly. "  Do  you  think  God  —  is  —  is — - 
interested  in  clothes.^  " 


[43] 


Ill 

Mr.  Pettibone  gazed  at  Miss  Philura  in 
puzzled  silence  for  the  space  of  a  minute. 
The  under  shepherd  of  the  Innisfield  Pres- 
byterian church,  as  Mrs.  Van  Duser  had 
once  called  him,  was  not  blessed  with  a 
very  keen  sense  of  humour.  He  strove  un- 
successfully to  imagine  the  theological 
concept  of  deity  to  which  he  had  been 
taught  to  pray  in  carefully  constructed 
sentences,  as  interested  in  the  black  and 
purple  brocade. 

He  shook  his  head.  Then  he  took  Miss 
Philura's  toil-worn  hand  is  his  own  and 
patted  it  gently. 

"  Do  I  think  —  God  —  is  interested  in 
' —  clothes  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Why  —  er 
—  really  —  " 

Somehow  or  other  a  certain  pregnant 
saying  concerning  a  mill-stone  and  the 
[44] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

deep  sea  flashed  across  his  troubled  mind. 

"  Our  Lord  in  his  various  discourses 
certainly  mentioned  garments  —  ah  — 
more  than  once,"  he  went  on  presently. 

]Miss  Philura's  blue  eyes  sparkled. 

"  I  knew  you'd  say  so !  "  she  murmured 
happily. 

"  The  wedding  garment  in  the  parable," 
pursued  the  minister,  referring  to  his  men- 
tal concordance  of  Scripture  texts.  *  The 
—  ah  —  robe  of  state  which  was  brought 
forth  for  the  returned  prodigal,  and — " 

"  The  lilies  of  the  field,"  suggested  Miss 
Philura  timidly.  "  Jesus  said  that  '  even 
Solomon,  in  all  his  glory,  was  not  arrayed 
like  one  of  these.'  " 

She  glanced  sidewise  at  the  chrysan- 
themums which  glistened  in  their  bridal 
snows  beneath  the  yellow  light  of  the 
lamp. 

"  True,"  said  the  minister. 

He   gazed   thoughtfully    at   the    rather 
shabby    clothes    he    was    wearing.     They 
[45] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

were  his  "  preaching  clothes "  of  three 
years  before  last.  Mr.  Pettibone  always 
wore  "  preaching  clothes  "  of  different  de- 
grees of  shabbiness,  for  the  very  good 
reason  that  he  could  afford  no  others.  He 
even  wore  a  very  ancient  and  disrepu- 
table long-tailed  frock-coat  and  black 
trousers  dating  back  into  obscurity,  when 
working  about  the  garden  and  in  the  cel- 
lar. He  called  these  garments  "  his 
working  togs  "  and  wore  them  cheerfully, 
but  down  deep  in  some  half  smothered 
bit  of  consciousness  lurked  a  carnal  weak- 
ness for  masculine  purple  and  fine  linen. 
He  had  once  met  an  eminent  Boston  divine 
clad  in  a  worldly  suit  of  tweeds,  enlivened 
still  further  by  a  cravat  of  deep  red.  Mr. 
Pettibone  attired  as  usual  in  his  third  best 
preaching  clothes  (devoted  to  pastoral 
calls  and  other  week-day  duties)  was  con- 
scious of  an  almost  sinful  admiration  of 
Dr.  Bentley's  spruce  person,  though  he 
[*6J 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

told  himself  that  he  could  never  approve 
worldliness  and  the  appearance  of  pomp 
and  fashion  in  "  a  man  of  God." 

That  expression  "  a  man  of  God,"  had 
taken  great  hold  upon  Silas  Pettibone, 
from  his  youth  up.  Almost  unconsciously 
he  had  pictured  this  ideal  personage  as 
solemnly  and  decorously  attired  in  more 
or  less  rusty  black  of  the  long-tailed  vari- 
ety. 

"  True,"  said  the  minister,  after  men- 
tally reviewing  his  wardrobe  filled  with 
graded  suits  of  ministerial  cut.  Then  he 
sighed. 

"  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  must  have 
had  some  splendid  clothes,"  continued 
Miss  Philura,  taking  up  her  scissors  again 
to  attack  a  long  seam  of  the  black  and 
purple  dress.  "  Red,  maybe,  and  pink  and 
blue  and  —  and  white." 

Her  brown  head  drooped  over  the  som- 
bre stuff  she  was  ripping.     She  did  not 
[47] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

even  glance  at  Mr.  Pettibone's  third  best 
preaching  suit. 

"  And  Jesus  said,"  went  on  the  hestita- 
ting,  sweet  voice,  "  He  said,  '  how  much  ' 
more  shall  he  clothe  you.'  " 

"  '  Oh,  ye  of  little  faith,'  "  added  the 
minister,  finishing  the  quotation  almost 
mechanically    and    from    force    of    habit. 

"  And  that  must  mean  that  if  we  only 
had  faith  enough  God  would  give  us  all  the 
clothes  we  needed,"  cried  IMiss  Philura 
jubilantly. 

"  Er  —  quite  possibly,"  admitted  the 
minister. 

"  Prettier  clothes  than  Solomon's,"  per- 
sisted Miss  Philura,  casting  a  black  and 
purple  strip  upon  the  floor ;  "  because,  you 
know,  lilies  of  the  field  are  more  beautiful 
than  silk  or  satin." 

"  And  so,"  inferred  the  minister  logic- 
ally, "  you  don't  intend  to  wear  a  dress 
of  this  —  ah  —  material  on  the  occasion 
of  our  marriage.'^  " 

[48] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

And  he  waved  a  rhetorical  hand  toward 
the  crumpled  heap  to  which  Mrs.  J.  Mor- 
timer Van  Duser's  erstwhile  robe  of  state 
had  become  reduced. 

Miss  Philura  looked  up  at  him  shyly. 
He  was  smiling  at  her  almost  humorously. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  with  the  girlish 
blush  he  had  noticed  before  flitting  across 
her  face. 

"  And  what  then  is  the  wedding  gar- 
ment to  be?"  pursued  the  minister,  "if 
I  am  not  overstepping  the  bounds  to  in- 
quire." 

She  paused,  hesitated,  then  bent  toward 
him  almost  beseechingly. 

"  You  don't  think  I'm  too  —  too  old  to 
wear  white?  " 

"  Too  old?  '^  repeated  the  minister  won- 
deringly. 

It  was  impossible  to  think  of  little  IMiss 
Philura  as  of  anything  which  the  passing 
years  had  used  unkindly. 

"  You  are  not  too  old,"  he  said  with 
[*9] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

decision,  "  to  wear  any  beautiful  robe,  and 
you  never  will  be." 

"  Electa  Pratt  will  say  I  am,"  mur- 
mured Miss  Philura,  with  a  suppressed 
sigh,  "  and  so,  I'm  afraid,  will  everybody 
else.     But  —  if    you    don't    think    so — " 

"  I  shall  love  to  see  you  in  a  white 
dress,"  he  assured  her  quietly.  "  It  will 
be,"  he  added  firmly,  "  entirely  suitable 
and  becoming." 


[50] 


IV 


"  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes,"  quoted 
the  Rev.  Silas  Pettibone  to  himself  as  he 
walked  home  beneath  the  mild  radiance  of 
the  stars.  He  "vvas  referring  to  Miss  Phi- 
lura,  "  a  babe  in  Christ,"  as  he  scrip- 
turally  termed  her.  Surely  no  grown  man 
or  woman  of  his  acquaintance  possessed 
so  rare  and  simple  a  faith. 

"  Miss  Philura,"  he  told  himself  with  a 
pleasant  feeling  of  warmth  about  a  heart 
chilled  with  loneliness  and  his  own  stern 
concepts  of  the  dealings  of  what  he  was 
pleased  to  term  "  Divine  Providence," 
"  Miss  Philura  is  —  ah  —  one  woman  in 
ten  thousand, —  er  —  and  altogether 
lovely." 

Mr.  Pettibone  found  himself  thinking 
of  Miss  Philura's  wedding  gown  with  par- 
donable enthusiasm.  He  was  glad  it  was 
[51] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

to  be  white.  White,  he  told  himself,  was 
the  one  proper  garb  for  so  fair,  so  pure, 
so  sweet  a  woman.  Angels  wore  white 
continuously,  he  had  been  led  to  believe. 

Then,  quite  simply  and  gravely  —  even 
in  his  thoughts  this  good  man  was  always 
simple  and  grave  —  he  thought  of  his  dead 
wife.  She  had  been  gone  from  him  many 
years,  and  a  wreath  of  memories  lay 
against  the  closed  door  in  his  heart  which 
bore  the  name  Mary.  It  was  another  life 
he  looked  back  upon  from  this  crest  of 
the  years.  He  saw  himself  as  he  had  been 
in  those  first  years  of  his  ministry.  And 
Mary  —  ?  No,  he  had  not  forgotten ;  he 
could  never  forget.  But  the  road  was 
long  and  very,  very  lonely.  Surely  she 
would  not  grudge  him  the  solace  of  com- 
panionship —  she  who  was  safe  folded 
behind  the  jasper  walls  of  a  distant  para- 
dise. 

The  parsonage  gate  clanged  behind 
him ;  Deacon  Scrimger's  dog  barked  vocif- 
[52] 


Mdss  Pkilura's   Wedding  Gown 

erously  from  his  kennel.  The  minister, 
.  pausing  upon  his  own  door-step,  looked  up 
into  the  sky,  sparkling  with  stars  between 
the  leafless  branches  of  the  elms. 

"  I  hope  I'm  doing  right,"  he  mur- 
mured humbly.  "  We're  both  alone,  you 
know." 

In  the  bright  light  of  morning,  stream- 
ing through  the  windows  of  his  study,  the 
Rev.  Silas  Pettibone  changed  the  subject 
of  his  evening  discourse  to  "  The  State  of 
the  Saved  after  Death."  His  morning 
sermon  on  "  Sanctification  by  Faith,"  took 
on  a  practical  turn,  which  astonished  the 
members  of  his  congregation. 

Miss  Philura,  still  pilloried  in  the  sing- 
ers' seat  behind  the  pulpit,  listened  with 
a  secret  rapture  which  she  was  not  alto- 
gether successful  in  hiding.  She  could 
not  help  hearing  the  stealthy  rustle  of 
Electa  Pratt's  taffeta  petticoat  beside  her. 
It  was  a  disapproving  rustle,  she  felt,  so 
was  the  lavish  display  of  highly  scented 

[  53  ] 


Mm  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

pocket-handkerchief,  with  which  Miss 
Pratt  chafed  the  tip  of  her  reddened  nose. 
Electa's  nose  always  reddened  when  she 
was  angry,  like  the  wattles  of  a  turkey. 

"  Sounds  to  me  like  Christian  Science" 
was  Miss  Pratt's  biting  comment,  as  the 
two  ladies  descended  from  the  choir  loft. 
"  The  i-de-a  of  tellin'  about  a  man's 
askin'  the  Lord  for  a  barrel  o'  potatoes! 
You  needn't  tell  me  you  haven't  been  try- 
in'  to  fill  him  up  with  the  stuff  you  heard 
in  Boston." 

"It's  in  the  Bible,"  said  Miss  Philura 
tremulously. 

"  Philura  Rice !  You  know  very  well  the 
word  potato  isn't  in  the  Bible  at  all. 
How  dare  you  say  such  a  thing?  " 

"  I  didn't  mean  potatoes  —  I  meant 
faith.  That's  in  the  Bible,  and  it's  for 
' —  for  potatoes,  or  —  anything  people 
need." 

"  Yes,  'n'  feathers  'n'  clo'es  'n'  en- 
gagement rings,  maybe,"  scoffed  Miss 
[64] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

Pratt,  who  had  of  late  observed  the  glitter 
of  a  modest  ring  on  Miss  Philura's  finger. 

"  Good-morning,  Electa ;  good-morning, 
Philura,"  intoned  a  majestic  voice.  "  Are 
you  discussing  the  sermon?  It  will  bear 
discussion,  it  seems  to  me." 

Miss  Philura  glanced  up  into  the  for- 
bidding eyes  of  the  tall,  massive  lady,  who 
had  joined  them  at  the  foot  of  the  stair, 

"  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Buckthorn,"  she 
said  weakly. 

"Yes,  what  did  you  think  of  it?'' 
chim.ed  in  Miss  Pratt.  "  I  was  just  tell- 
ing Philura  I  thought  it  sounded  like 
Christian  Science.  But  of  course  Phi- 
lura — " 

"  Oh,  I  trust  not,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Buckthorn,  wagging  her  head,  which  wag 
surmounted  by  a  lofty  structure  of  black 
and  white,  pinnacled  by  a  tuft  of  dispirited 
looking  feathers.  She  had  the  air  of  one 
who  successfully  denies  the  world,  the 
flesh  and  the  devil. 

[55] 


Miss  Philura^s  Wedding  Gown 

"  Christian  Science,  my  dear  Electa,  is  , 
neither  Christian  nor  Scientific,  as  I  have 
always  said.     Really,  it  frightens  me  to 
hear  you   mention  it  in   connection  with 
our  pastor.     No  —  no !  " 

Mrs.  Buckthorn  shook  her  head,  with 
closed  eyes. 

Presently  she  opened  them  with  a  snap. 

'"  I  was  grieved  to  hear  that  you've 
been  drawed  away  from  the  truth  of  late, 
Philura." 

Miss  Philura's  lips  parted,  but  she  did 
not  speak.  Instead  she  glanced  reproach- 
fully at  Electa  Pratt. 

"  You've  been  in  my  Sabbath  School 
class  for  more  than  ten  years,  Philura," 
pursued  Mrs.  Buckthorn,  "  an'  I'm  sure 
you  never  learned  to  pray  for  silk  petti- 
coats from  7W^." 

"  No,"  admitted  Miss  Philura,  "  I  never 
did." 

"  I've  invited  the  minister  to  dinner  to- 
day, for  the  express  purpose  of  holding 
[56] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

holy  converse  or  the  subject  of  this  morn- 
ing's sermon."  Mrs.  Buckthorn  said 
mournfully.  "  We  should  not  forget  that 
there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed  between  the 
church  and  the  world.  I  shall  pray  for 
you,  Philura." 

"  Thank  —  you,"  murmured  Miss  Phi- 
lura, in  a  small,  faint  voice. 

"  *  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  he  chas- 
teneth,'  "  quoted  Mrs.  Buckthorn  sourly. 
"  I  fear  you  have  not  been  under  the  rod 
of  late,  judging  from  what  I  hear." 

The  lad}'  closed  her  eyes,  and  drew  a 
sibilant  sigh  from  the  depths  of  her  being. 

*'  Pilgrims  in  this  vale  of  tears  should 
not  indulge  in  pleasure,"  she  said  in  a  hol- 
low voice,  "  nor  follow  the  foolish  and  fleet- 
ing fashions  of  worldlings." 

Miss  Philura  could  not  help  noticing 
that  ]Mrs.  Buckthorn's  silk  gown,  while 
cut  after  a  fashion  entirely  unbecoming  to 
her  stout  figure,  made  undoubted  conces- 
sions to  the  prevailing  mode. 
[57] 


Mhs  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  be  married 
in?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Buckthorn  in  a  hollow 
tone. 

"  My  wedding  dress  is  to  be  white," 
said  Miss  Philura  almost  defiantly. 

"White?"  echoed  Mrs.  Buckthorn  in 
an  unbelieving  tone.  "  Surely,  not 
white." 

"White!"  cried  Miss  Electa  Pratt. 
"  Well,  I  declare  1 " 

Then  she  giggled  disagreeably. 

"  I  s'pose  you'll  wear  a  veil  an'  carry 
a  shower  bouquet?  " 

Miss  Philura  reflected  a  moment. 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  she  said  calmly. 
"  I  shall  wear  chrysanthemums  —  white 
ones." 

Mrs.  Buckthorn  shook  her  head. 

"  Think  better  of  it,  Philura,"  she  ad- 
vised compassionately.  "  At  your  time  of 
life  —  " 

"  Yes,  an'  marryin'  a  widower  at  that !  " 
shrilled  Miss  Electa.  "  My,  I  wouldn't 
[58] 


Miss  Pkilura's   Wedding  Gown 

think   of    such   a   thing   for   a   moment ! " 

"  A  nice  drab  alapaca,"  said  Mrs. 
Buckthorn  antiphonally. 

"  Trimmed  with  bias  folds,"  added  Miss 
Pratt. 

Mrs.  Buckthorn  nodded  approval. 

"  Bias  folds  are  always  in  good  taste. 
You  will  be  glad  jou  took  my  advice  later 
on:' 

Whereat  Miss  Electa  laughed  aloud, 
and  Mrs.  Buckthorn  looked  shocked. 

"  You  should  remem.ber  where  you  are^ 
my  dear  Electa,"  she  chided. 

"  Philura  never  takes  anybody's  ad- 
vice," sniffed  Miss  Pratt.  "  I  had  t'  laugh 
at  the  very  idea!  " 

"  Then  she'll  never  do  for  a  minister's 
wife,"  was  Mrs.  Buckthorn's  well-founded 
opinion. 

But  Miss  Philura  had  drawn  her  skirts 
away  from  the  rain-washed  steps  and 
was  literally  fleeing  from  the  wrath  to 
come. 

[59] 


Miss  Fhilura^s  Wedding  Gown 

That  afternoon  when  the  Rev.  Mr.  Pet- 
tibone  had  with  difficulty  escaped  from  the 
heart  to  heart  conversation  which  followed 
what  was  known  as  "  our  Sabbath  repast  " 
in  the  Buckthorn  family,  and  which  invar- 
iably consisted  of  cold  roast  mutton  and 
pallid  pie,  flanked  by  pickles  of  an  exceed- 
ingly acid  sort,  the  reverend  gentleman 
was  in  a  particularly  thoughtful  frame  of 
mind. 

It  had  been  borne  in  upon  him  that  in 
marrying  Miss  Philura  he  was  not  merely 
securing  to  himself  a  help-meet  to  com- 
panion his  solitude,  but  also  —  and  more 
particularly  —  he  was  providing  his  par- 
ish with  that  useful,  indeed  almost  indis- 
pensable adjunct,  a  minister's  wife. 

"  We've  been  hoping  that  you'd  marry 
again,  Mr.  Pettibone,"  said  Mrs.  Buck- 
thorn majestically;  "but  I  confess  that  I 
was  never  more  surprised  than  when  I 
heard  of  your  engagement  to  Philura 
Rice.'* 

[60] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

**  Hm  —  m,"  murmured  the  minister 
noncommittally. 

"  If  it  had  been  Electa  Pratt,  now, — 
she's  such  a  capable  person  —  or  the 
Widow  Green.  She's  very  pious,  and 
could  lead  the  female  prayer  meetings ; 
but  Philura  —  As  I  told  Mr.  Buck- 
thorn, you  could  have  knocked  me  over 
with  a  feather  !  " 

This,  in  view  of  Mrs.  Buckthorn's  mas- 
sive proportions,  was  a  forceful  state- 
ment. The  minister  showed  his  apprecia- 
tion of  it  by  moving  uneasily  in  his  chair, 
and  by  the  quick  nervous  gesture  with 
which  he  rumpled  his  iron  grey  hair. 

*'  Ah  —  um,  really,"  he  murmured 
vaguely. 

Then,  as  Mrs.  Buckthorn  still  regarded 
him  fixedly,  in  obvious  expectation  of  a  re- 
ply, he  expressed  himself  in  handsome 
terms  as  being  grateful  for  his  parishion- 
er's kind  interest  in  his  welfare. 

"  But  —  ah  —  I  think  you  will  find  the 
[611 


Miss  Fhilura's   IVedding  Gown 

future  Mrs.  Pettibone  quite  equal  to  any 
duties  which  may  fall  to  her  lot,"  he  con- 
cluded forcefully. 

Mrs.  Buckthorn  hoped  so^  with  the  air 
and  manner  of  a  person  who  expresses  be- 
lief in  the  millennium. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  that  the  min- 
ister had  taken  leave  of  his  hostess,  with 
a  dignity  and  decision  which  admitted  of 
no  further  conversation.  Mrs.  Buckthorn 
had,  indeed,  followed  him  quite  to  the 
verge  of  the  threshold,  intending  to  ex- 
press her  views  on  the  subject  of  the  wed- 
ding. But  Mr.  Pettibone  had  taken  his 
hat  from  the  rack,  had  put  it  on  his  head 
and  was  half  way  down  the  front  walk  be- 
fore the  excellent  lady  had  time  to  more 
than  mention  the  all-important  subject  of 
Miss  Philura's  wedding  dress,  which 
burned  for  eloquent  utterance. 

"  Yes  —  yes,  indeed,"  the  minister  had 
said   hastily,   "  Verhum    sap.,    you   know ! 
Thank  you  very   much.     Good-bye !  " 
[62] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

"  What  on  earth  did  he  mean  by  men- 
tioning sap  to  me,  I'd  Hke  to  know,"  Mrs, 
Buckthorn  inquired  acidly  of  her  spouse, 
who  was,  as  might  have  been  expected,  a 
small,  meek,  generally  voiceless  person. 

"Sap?"  echoed  Mr.  Buckthorn,  blink- 
ing pacifically  at  his  consort.  "  Sap? 
Well  now,  I've  heard  of  such  a  thing  as  a 
sap-head ;  mebbe  he  meant  —  " 

"  Benjamin  Buckthorn,"  intoned  the 
lady,  "  do  you  suppose  for  a  minute  that 
any  man  would  dare  to  apply  such  an  epi- 
thet to  me?  " 

"  No  —  no  —  no,  Lizzie,  'course  not.. 
I  only  started  t'  say  — " 

But  Mr.  Buckthorn  rarely  finished  what 
he  had  to  say.  He  did  not  on  this  occa- 
sion, for  usual  and  entirely  sufficient 
reasons. 

Mr.  Pettibone,  by  now  arrived  at  the 
parsonage,  did  not  at  once  apply  himself 
to  meditations  suited  to  the  further  devel- 
opment   of  his    evening's    discourse.     In- 
[63] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

stead    he    walked    about    the    ministerial 
domicile,   gazing  at  all  that  he  saw  with 
unaccustomed  eyes.     His  recent  conversa- 
tion with  Miss  Philura  on  the  subject  of 
the  wedding  dress,  added  to  Mrs.  Buck- 
thorn's pungent  remarks  of  the  afternoon, 
had  served  to  bring  the  fact  of  his   ap- 
proaching nuptials  very  clearly  before  Mr. 
Pettibone's  mind.     It  had  seemed  a  very 
simple    and    natural    arrangement   to   the 
minister.     Two      lonely      persons      living 
heretofore  under  two   roofs  would  hence- 
forth dwell  under  one,  to  the  great  com- 
fort and  mutual  advantage  of  the  lonely 
persons.     It   was    apparent,    even   to   the 
minister,  that  to  Miss  Philura  the  change 
was  to  be  a  very  grave  one.      She  would 
be  ruthlessly  uprooted  from  the  quiet  nook 
where  she  had  dwelt  as  unobserved  as   a 
violet   under   a   leaf,   and   set   in   the   full 
glare    of    a    public    opinion    more   pitiless 
and  scorching  than  the  fiery  eye  of  the  sun 
in    mid-summer.     He    wondered    if    Miss 
[64] 


Mzss  Pkilura's   Wedding  Gown 

Philura  realised  this,  as  he  was  beginning 
to  do.  He  wondered,  too,  if  he  would 
be  able  to  shelter  her  from  the  harsh  criti- 
cisms which  he  foresaw  would  fall  to  her 
lot ;  could  he  solace  her  bruised  spirit ;  was 
it,  in  short,  going  to  be  worth  while  for 
Miss  Philura? 

The  minister  was  a  modest  man,  and 
quite  unaware  as  jet  of  the  real  state  of 
Miss  Philura's  sentiments  toward  him- 
self, so  he  passed  a  very  bad  quarter 
of  an  hour,  during  which  he  arraigned 
himself  severely  for  a  variety  of  misdeeds 
and  short-comings,  chief  among  which  was 
his  own  carnal  selfishness  in  venturing  to 
covet  Miss  Philura's  affections  and  the 
solace  of  her  companionship. 

Such  meditations  are  apt  to  be  short- 
lived with  the  most  altruistic  of  mankind. 
In  the  end  the  Rev.  Silas  Pettibone,  by  a 
series  of  logical  arguments,  had  succeeded 
in  convincing  himself  of  the  truth :  namely, 
^at  Miss  Philura  needed  him,  as  much  as 
[65] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

he  needed  her.  Also,  he  metaphorically 
snapped  his  fingers  in  the  general  direc- 
tion of  Electa  Pratt,  the  Widow  Green  — 
and  Mrs.  Deaconess  Buckthorn.  He,  Si- 
las Pettibone,  was  the  pastor  of  the 
Innisfield  Presbyterian  Church,  and  he 
meant  to  perform  the  duties  of  his  posi- 
tion in  the  future  as  in  the  past,  with  un- 
swerving fidelity,  not  to  say  painful  con- 
scientiousness, hut  —  and  he  smote  the 
blotting  pad  on  his  study  table  with  foren- 
sic force  and  suddenness  —  he  was  also  a 
man,  and  entitled  by  all  the  primal  pre- 
rogatives of  his  sex  to  select  his  own  mate. 

Mentally,  he  defied  the  Ladies'  Aid  So- 
ciety, the  Session  of  the  church,  the  par- 
ish and  the  world  at  large,  singly  and  col- 
lectively. He  would  wed  Miss  Philura, 
and  defend  her  peace  and  happiness 
against  all  comers. 

Having  arrived  at  this  soul-satisfying 
conclusion,    the   minister   arose    from   his 
chair  and  again  began  pacing  the  floor, 
[66] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

What   a   wonderful   little   woman  Miss 
Philura  was    (he   always   called  her  Miss 
Philura  in  his  musings)  and  how  illumina- 
ting were  her  interpretations  of  Scripture. 
Really,  he  had  never  adequately  apprecia- 
ted the  matter  of  King  Solomon's  apparel. 
He  allowed  his  mind  to  wander  vaguely 
among    the    presumably    gorgeous    vest- 
ments   of    that    long    defunct    monarch. 
Pink,  she  had  specified,  and  red,  and  gold, 
and   blue.      Undoubtedly   she   was   right, 
and  he    sighed   as   he   recalled  the   many 
well-worn   long-tailed    frock   coats,  which 
constituted  his  own  wardrobe. 

Then,  quite  naturally,  it  would  seem, 
he  began  to  take  dubious  note  of  the  con- 
dition of  the  room  in  which  he  had  passed 
so  many  studious  hours.  It  was,  come 
to  look  at  it,  in  the  strong  afternoon  light, 
an  exceedingly  shabby  place.  The  wall- 
paper, for  example  —  Mr.  Pettibone 
jerked  the  window-shades  to  the  top  of 
the  casement  with  an  impatient  hand. 
[67] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

"  Really,"  he  murmured,  "  I  didn't 
realise  how  dilapidated  everything  is." 

He  recalled  now  that  Jane  Stiles,  his 
house-keeper,  had  drawn  his  attention  to 
the  roof  of  the  back  kitchen,  which  leaked 
all  over  her  clean  floor  every  time  it 
rained,  and  to  the  lack  of  paint  on  the 
kitchen  cupboards.  He  had  mentioned 
the  subject  of  necessary  repairs  on  the 
parsonage  to  Elder  Trimmer,  the  presi- 
dent of  the  board  of  trustees,  and  had 
been  told  that  lack  of  funds  would  prevent 
any  expenditures  of  the  sort. 

He  had  told  Jane  Stiles  of  this  adverse 
decision,  and  she  had  sniffed  a  comprehen- 
sive disbelief. 

"  I  guess  they'll  find  their  parsonage  a- 
tumblin'  about  their  years,  if  they  leave 
it  be  long  enough,"  was  her  unasked  opin- 
ion. 

Mr.  Pettibone  making  a  leisurely  sur- 
vey of  the  ministerial  residence  on  this 
occasion  was  forced  to  concur  in  Miss 
[68] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

Stiles'    verdict.     The    parsonage    needed 
fresh  paint,  paper  and  plenishings. 

Mr.  Pettibone  recalled  once  more  Miss 
Philura's  unquestioning  faith  in  the  All- 
encircling  Good.  Mr.  Pettibone's  God, 
while  not  afar  off,  had  never  appeared  to 
him  to  be  "  closer  than  breathing;  nearer 
than  hands  or  feet."  He  thought  of  his 
God  habitually  as  '^  inhabiting  eternity," 
which  he  conceived  to  be  a  state  very  far 
removed  from  earthly  life.  It  had  ap- 
peared a  species  of  irreligion  to  acquaint 
this  exalted  deity  with  any  of  the  sordid 
details  of  one's  pilgrimage  through  a  vale 
of  tears.  The  state  of  one's  individual 
soul,  and  of  the  souls  of  the  parish  had 
lain  heavy  on  Mr.  Pettibone's  heart.  So 
had  the  condition  of  the  heathen  in  foreign 
lands.  He  frequently  besought  his  God 
with  eloquence  and  fervour  in  behalf  of 
the  President  of  the  United  States  and  for 
all  legislative  bodies  now  convened;  but 
it  had  not  heretofore  occurred  to  him  to 
[69] 


Miss  Fhilurds   Wedding  Gown 

Tnention  before  what  he  habitually  alluded 
to  as  "  the  throne  of  Grace  "  the  arrears 
in  his  salary,  his  pressing  need  of  a  new 
preaching  suit,  or  the  dilapidated  condi- 
tion of  the  parsonage. 

He  dropped  into  his  study  chair  and 
opened  his  Bible. 

"  Ye  have  not  because  ye  ask  not," 
stared  accusingly  at  him  from  the  page. 


[■70] 


Mr.  George  Trimmer,  known  on  week 
days  and  in  secular  circles  as  the  proprie- 
tor of  Trimmer's  Dry  Goods  Emporium, 
and  on  Sundays  and  prayer-meeting  even- 
ings as  "  our  good  brother,  Elder  Trim- 
mer," was  actively  engaged  in  the  Em- 
porium on  the  Monday  morning  immedi- 
ately ensuing.  The  business  being  ordi- 
narily small,  since  most  of  the  Innisfield 
ladies  after  the  immemorial  custom  of  sub- 
urbanites did  their  shopping  in  Boston, 
Mr.  Trimmer  employed  but  one  assistant 
except  at  the  holiday  season,  when  the 
trade  briskened. 

In  view  of  what  Mr.  Trimmer  character- 
ised as  the  Christmas  rush  he  had  engaged 
and  was  now  duly  instructing  a  new 
clerk.  This  young  man  had  come  from 
Boston,  bringing  excellent  testimonials  as 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

to  his  general  good  character  and  ability. 
He  was  a  very  personable  young  fellow, 
and  his  alert  good  looks  were  set  off  by  a 
smart  business  suit.  He  had  said  that 
his  name  was  Milton  Gregory;  this  Mr. 
Trimmer  promptly  shortened  to  "  Milt," 
as  being  a  more  convenient  form  of  ad- 
dress as  well  as  marking  the  subordinate 
position  of  the  fashionably  dressed  young 

man. 

Mr.  Trimmer  was  of  two  minds  regard- 
ing his  clerk.  His  general  get-up  put  his 
employer's  baggy  old  clothes  to  the  blush, 
if  such  an  expression  may  be  applied  to 
the  worn  and  ancient  garb  affected  by  Mr. 
Trimmer  on  week  days.  On  the  other 
hand  the  smart  young  man  would  adver- 
tise his  business  and  attract  trade.  There 
would  be  a  general  desire  on  the  part  of 
the  young  women  of  Innisfield  to  buy  a 
yard  of  ribbon  or  a  skein  of  embroidery 
silk,  Mr.  Trimmer  shrewdly  opined.  But 
he  intended,  as  he  told  himself,  "  to  put 
[72] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

the  dude's  nose  right  down  on  the  grind- 
stone," and  he  was  busy  with  this  at- 
tractive  program  when  the  door  of  the 
shop  opened  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Pettibone 
came  in. 

The  preliminary  greetings  over,  Mr. 
Pettibone  entered  at  once  upon  the  busi- 
ness which  had  brought  him  to  the  Trim- 
mer Emporium. 

He  first  purchased  three  pairs  of  black 
cotton  socks  with  white  feet,  and  a  wash- 
able cravat  of  the  sort  he  always  wore. 
While  Mr.  Trimmer  was  wrapping  up 
these  purchases  with  his  customary  show 
of  good  will,  which,  after  all,  costs  noth- 
ing and  often  helps  trade,  Mr.  Pettibone 
cleared  his  throat  rather  nervously. 

"  —  Er  —  I  wanted  to  have  a  word  with 
you,  Brother  Trimmer,"  he  began. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  permitted 
Brother  Trimmer :  but  his  mouth  tight- 
ened. 

"  You  may  recall  that  I  spoke  to  you 
[73] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

some   weeks    ago  —  ah  —  with   regard   to 
necessary  repairs  upon  the  parsonage." 

"  M-m-m,"  murmured  Mr.  Trimmer. 
"  And  I  told  you  —  " 

"  You  said,  as  treasurer  of  the  Board  of 
Trustees,  that  there  were  no  funds." 

"  Exactly,"  smiled  Mr.  Trimmer.  "  No 
funds." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Sorry ;  but  it  can't  be  helped,  you 
see." 

"  That's  precisely  what  I  wish  to  in- 
quire into.  As  you  are  aware,  my  salary 
is  behind ;  and  the  arrears  increase  rather 
than  diminish  with  each  year.  There  is 
now  something  like  five  hundred  dollars 
owing  me." 

"  Oh,  m}^  my !  I  hope  not,"  deprecated 
Mr.  Trimmer,  looking  past  the  minister 
out  of  the  window.  "  Five  hundred  dol- 
lars sounds  pretty  big  —  eh?  " 

"  It  does  to  me,"  admitted  the  minister 
ruefully.     "  I  haven't   urged   the   matter 
[74] 


Mdss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

because  I've  been  quite  alone  in  the  world, 
and  my  expenses  are  not  large.     But  —  " 

Mr.  Trimmer  coughed  deprecatingly. 

"  A  thrifty  wife  is  from  the  Lord,"  he 
misquoted.  "  She'll  save  you  quite  a  bit 
of  money  in  the  long  run.  Miss  Philura's 
economical;  she's  had  to  be." 

The  minister  stiffened  slightly. 

"  It  was  not  to  discuss  my  future  house- 
hold affairs  that  I  came  to  see  you,"  he 
said,  "  though  I  shall  not  attempt  to  deny 
that  in  view  of  my  approaching  marriage 
I  must  insist  upon  having  all  arrears  of 
salary  paid  in  full.  And  as  for  the  par- 
sonage —  let  me  urge  upon  you  the  ad- 
visability of  appointing  a  committee  to 
look  the  property  over.  It  is  certainly 
false  economy  to  permit  the  house  to  fall 
into  complete  ruin  for  lack  of  proper  and 
necessary  repairs." 

The  minister  spoke  with  warmth; 
Brother  Trimmer  opposed  his  pastor's 
eager  look  and  gesture  with  a  stony  calm. 
[75] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

"Insist?"  he  inquired  with  uplifted 
brows.     "  I  believe  you  said  —  " 

"  I  did  say  insist,  and  why  not?  Don't 
you  insist,  when  people  owe  you  money 
which  they  can  but  won't  pay?  " 

Mr.  Trimmer  was  secretly  astonished 
by  the  vehemence  of  the  minister's  tone. 
Moreover,  he  considered  heat  and  temper 
entirely  unbecoming  in  a  man  of  God, 
such  as  he  conceived  the  Rev.  Silas  Petti- 
bone  to  be. 

"  A  minister  of  the  Gospel,"  he  said 
sourly,  "  will  hardly  apply  the  hard  and 
fast  rules  of  the  business  world  to  —  er 
—  the  stipend  he  receives  as  a  free-will  of- 
fering from  the  church." 

"  But  my  salary  isn't  a  free-will  offer- 
ing," contradicted  Mr.  Pettibone.  "  It  is 
a  regular  stated  amount,  offered  by  the 
church  and  accepted  by  myself,  when  I 
became  the  pastor  of  this  church.  Do 
you  think  you  can  collect  the  amount  due 
me  by  Saturday  evening?  " 
[76] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

Elder  Trimmer  could  hardly  believe  his 
ears. 

He  shook  his  head,  with  a  sniff  of  de- 
rision. 

"  It  can't  be  done,"  he  said  with  more 
sharpness  than  he  was  in  the  habit  of  us- 
ing toward  his  cash  customers.  "  No,  in- 
deed.    Sorry,  but  it's  impossible." 

"  With  God  all  things  are  possible," 
quoted  the  minister  with  just  a  shade  of 
significant  emphasis  on  the  introductory 
preposition. 

Mr.  Trimmer  shifted  from  his  left  foot 
to  his  right ;  then  back  again.  He  was 
growing  impatient. 

"  But  not  with  man,"  he  said  dryly. 
"  We  ain't  got  the  money.  That's  all 
there  is  about  it." 

But  his  eyes  avoided  the  minister's  gaze. 

"Won't  you  try  to  get  it?  " 

"  You  mean  collect  —  eh.?  Couldn't  do 
it ;  no,  sir ;  not  at  this  season  of  the  year. 
Christmas,  you  know.  Folks  won't  pay 
[77] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

up  back  pew-rents  at  Christmas.  You 
couldn't  expect  it." 

The  minister  slowly  drew  on  his  gloves 
and  reached  for  his  parcel. 

"  I've  been  to  see  Deacon  Scrimger,"  he 
observed  mildly. 

Mr.  Trimmer  smiled  his  tight  smile. 

"  I  guess  he  didn't  tell  you  nothing  dif- 
ferent? " 

"  No.  And  he  said  furthermore  that  if 
any  effort  was  made  to  collect  pledges  and 
pew-rents  people  would  go  to  the  Metho- 
dist Church  rather  than  pay  up." 

"  I  guess  that's  straight  goods,"  agreed 
Mr.  Trimmer  appropriately. 

"  I  also  interviewed  some  of  the  ladies 
of  the  congregation  —  er  —  Mrs.  Buck- 
thorn and  Miss  Day  and  —  " 

"What'd  they  say?" 

"  They  agreed  with  you  in  thinking  the 
Christmas  season  a  bad  one  for  attempting 
to  make  any  collections.  Mrs.  Buck- 
thorn proposed  giving  a  donation  party 
[78] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

at  the  parsonage  the  Friday  following  the 
week  of  prayer." 

"  That  might  be  done,"  approved  Mr. 
Trimmer.  "  Brings  the  young  folks  to- 
gether ;  provides  a  pleasant  social  occa- 
sion.    I'll  vote  for  that." 

*'  But  I  won't,"  said  the  minister  de- 
cidedly. "  I  don't  approve  of  donations. 
I  refuse  absolutely.     I  told  the  ladies  so." 

"  Well,  then,  I  guess  —  1 

"  It  is  evident  to  me,"  the  minister  went 
on,  ignoring  Mr.  Trimmer's  obvious  con- 
clusion, "  that  this  church  is  in  a  very  bad 
way  —  a  very  bad  way.  It  is  in  an  in- 
solvent condition,  and  its  leading  members 
and  officers  refuse  to  take  proper  steps  to 
pay  their  honest  debts.  This  I  consider 
even  more  alarming  than  the  debt  itself. 
I  shall  take  steps  —  " 

«  Er  —  What?  "  interjected  Mr.  Trim- 
mer. 

"  I  blame  myself  for  permitting  the 
Lord's    business    to    fall    into    such    con- 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

fusion,"  continued  the  minister  earnestly. 
"  I  even  conceived  that  I  was  doing  you 
all  a  kindness  in  permitting  my  salary  to 
go  unpaid.  I  had  thought  of  cancelling 
the  debt,  and  thus  contributing  —  to  be 
exact  —  the  sum  of  four  hundred,  ninety- 
seven  dollars  and  fifty  cents  toward  my 
own  support." 

"  If  you'd  do  that  mebbe  we  c'd  manage 
to  paper  the  parlour  an'  fix  the  kitchen 
roof,"  suggested  Mr.  Trimmer.  "  We 
should  appreciate  it  very  much.  Yes,  in- 
deed." 

"  But  I'm  not  going  to  do  it,"  the  min- 
ister spoke  sternly.  "  The  Lord  has 
shown  me  my  duty.  Unless  half  the 
amount  due  me  is  paid  to  me  by  Saturday 
night  of  this  week,  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
lay  the  matter  before  Presbytery.  I  shall 
also  ask  you  to  read  a  full  report  on  Sun- 
day, and  immediately  thereafter  call  a 
special  meeting  for  prayer.  '  Ye  have 
not  because  ye  ask  not.'  This  church 
[80] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

must  humble  itself  before  God.  It  must 
beg  forgiveness  for  its  shortcomings.  It 
must  pay  its  debts." 

Elder  Trimmer's  jaw  fell. 

"  Wait  till  the  week  of  prayer,"  he 
begged.  "  It  would  —  er  —  hurt  busi- 
ness.    It  would  indeed,  just  at  the  Christ- 


mas season  —  " 


<( 


Man,  man  !  "  cried  the  minister,  "  have 
you  forgotten  what  we  celebrate  at  the 
Christmas  season?  " 

Then,  abruptly  he  turned  and  went  out. 

Mr.  Trimmer  roused  from  a  state  bor- 
dering on  stupefaction  to  find  his  newly 
engaged  clerk  at  his  elbow. 

"  Say,  but  he's  a  hummer !  "  exclaimed 
the  young  man.  "  You'll  have  to  get 
busy,  Mr.  Trimmer,  or  he'll  show  you  up 
in  great  shape.  If  you  don't  mind,  I'd 
like  to  subscribe  my  first  month's  salary 
to  the  fund." 

"  You  ain't  earned  it  yet,"  snapped 
Mr.  Trimmer,  "  and  there  ain't  no  fund." 
[  81  ] 


VI 


Miss  Malvina  Bennett  paused  in  the  act 
of  sweeping  her  front  stoop  to  look  about 
her.  Miss  Bennett's  moments  in  the  open 
air  were  few,  because  she  was  nearly  al- 
ways bending  over  her  sewing  near  the 
draughty  little  window  of  the  front  room 
upstairs. 

A  damp  snow  had  fallen  during  the 
night,  clinging  wherever  it  touched,  so 
that  the  world  at  which  Miss  Bennett 
gazed  with  faded,  lack-lustre  eyes  was 
curiously  transformed.  Every  tree  and 
bush  appeared  loaded  with  white  blos- 
soms and  a  pink  sun  struggling  through  a 
veil  of  light  grey  clouds  shone  faint  and 
marvellous  between  the  snowy  branches. 

"  My  !  "  murmured  Miss  Bennett.  "  It 
certainly    is   handsome  !  " 

Then  she  pulled  the  little  knitted  shawl 
[82] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

closer  about  her  head  and  shoulders  and 
resumed  her  sweeping.  A  pile  of  unfin- 
ished garments  awaited  her  busy  needle, 
and  she  must  not  waste  time  in  gazing  at 
the  winter  miracle. 

As  she  was  bestowing  a  final  flap  upon 
the  broom,  preparatory  to  entering  the 
house,  she  saw  a  small  figure  coming 
toward  her  across  the  vacant  lot.  The 
pink  sun  had  climbed  higher  by  now  and 
the  tall,  jewelled  weeds  on  each  side  of  the 
narrow,  deep-trodden  path  blazed  with 
sudden  splendour  of  blue  and  scarlet  and 
fiery  rose. 

"  I  thought  'twas  you,  Philura,"  said 
Miss  Bennett  as  the  hurrying  figure  drew 
near.  "  My  eyesight's  gettin'  s'  poor 
lately  I  can't  hardly  see  anybody  at  a  dis- 
tance." 

"  I  want  to  look  over  your  fashion 
books,  Malvina,"  Miss  Philura  said,  "  and 
see  if  I  can  get  some  ideas." 

"  I've  got  all  the  December  magazines,'' 
[83] 


Miss  Philura^s  Wedding  Gown 

Miss  Bennett  told  her  eagerly.  "  Come 
right  in  an'  I'll  get  'em  all  out  for  you." 

As  they  went  upstairs  together  Miss 
Bennett  said, 

"  I  guess  you've  heard  me  speak  of  my 
sister-in-law's  niece,  Genevieve  Parsons? 
Her  folks  live  in  Boston ;  she's  a  sweet, 
pretty  girl,  and  a  real  neat  sewer.  She's 
stayin'  with  me  for  awhile." 

She  threw  open  the  door  of  the  sewing 
room  and  Miss  Philura  saw^  a  young  girl 
seated  by  the  window,  her  blond  head 
drooped  over  the  unfinished  garment  in 
her  lap. 

"  Fer  goodness'  sake,  Genevieve,"  ejacu- 
lated Miss  Bennett,  "  you  ain't  tryin'  to 
put  them  milliner's  folds  on  that  waist  of 
Miss  Day's,  are  you?  I  wouldn't  das'  t' 
trust  the  Angel  Gabriel  with  them  folds, 
an'  Miss  Day  that  fussy  an'  pertic'lar." 

Thus  rebuked  the  girl  meekly  yielded 
the  black  waist. 

"  I  thought  you  said  I  was  to  do  it." 
[84] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

There  was   a   dreary   note   in   her   young 
voice. 

Miss  Philura  noticed  that  the  girl's  eye- 
lids were  slightly  reddened,  as  if  from  re- 
cent tears.  But  she  smiled  pleasantly 
when  Miss  Bennett  made  them  acquainted. 
"  Miss  Philura's  goin'  t'  marry  the  min- 
ister," explained  Miss  Bennett  briskly. 
"  An'  she  wants  t'  look  over  the  fashion 
books." 

The  girl  glanced  at  Miss  Philura  from 
under  her  long  lashes.  There  was  a  naive 
curiosity  and  wonderment  in  her  brown 
eyes. 

\ATiy,  she  was  asking  herself  with  a  kind 
of  youthful  arrogance,  should  anyone  so 
small  and  faded  as  Miss  Philura  care  about 
fashions.?  And  how  extraordinary  to 
think  she  was  going  to  be  married. 

The   girl   sighed   deeply.      She  was  tall 
and  held  herself  stiffly,  as  if  not  quite  over 
her  surprise  at  finding  her  lovely  head  so 
far  above  her  mother's. 
[85] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

"  Here,  Jennie,  you  c'n  sew  the  hooks 
'n'  eyes  on  this  waist,"  said  Miss  Bennett 
cheerfully.  "  Or,  if  you're  tired  settin' 
you  c'n  go  down  an'  feed  the  hens.  The' 
's  a  plate  o'  scrapin's  on  th'  kitchen 
table." 

The  girl  went  slowly  out  of  the  room, 
her  head  with  its  heavy  plaits  of  pale 
brown  hair  drooped  a  little  to  one  side. 

Miss  Philura  looked  up  from  the  pic- 
ture of  a  preposterously  long  limbed  lady 
clad  in  a  bewildering  gown  of  black  and 
purple. 

"  I've  got  some  silk  in  these  shades," 
she  said  rather  vaguely.  Then  she  added 
abruptly,  "  Is  she  sick?  " 

"  Who  ?  Genevieve  ?  No ;  she  ain't  sick. 
But  I  dunno  but  what  she  will  be,  if  she 
keeps  worritin'.  I'm  keepin'  her  busy,  an' 
that  'ad  ought  t'  take  her  mind  off,  if 
anythin'  will." 

"  Take  her  mind  off?  "  repeated  Miss 
Philura,  gazing  at  the  simpering  counte- 
[86] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

nance  of  the  lady  in  the  picture,  who 
looked  as  if  she  never  had  any  mind  to 
take  off  or  put  on. 

*•  Genevieve's  been  crossed  in  love,"  said 
Miss  Bennett  in  a  sibilant  whisper.  "  I 
don't  mind  tellin'  you,  Philura ;  but  don't 
for  goodness'  sake  let  anybody  else  know. 
She's  related  t'  the  Peabcdys  an'  th'  Win- 
throps  on  her  pa's  side.  He's  been  dead 
since  she  was  little.  But  I  c'n  tell 
you  she's  jest  's  proud  's  anybody,  an' 
when  his  folks  objected,  why  she  made  up 
her  mind  she  wouldn't  m.arry  him  —  not 
if  he  was  a  dcok  and  askin'  her  on  his 
bended  knee.      So  she  come  here  t'  me." 

Miss  Bennett  paused  to  listen,  nex  head 
on  one  side. 

"  He  don't  know  where  she  is,"  she  fin- 
ished triumphantly.  "  I  tell  you  she's 
got  spunk !  " 

Then  the  two  looked  at  each  other  guilt- 
ily, at  sound  of  her  light  step  on  the  stair. 

"  Now  this  'ere  style  'd  be  real  becomin' 
[87] 


Mzss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

t'  you,  Philura,"  Miss  Bennett  was  say- 
ing, when  Genevieve  came  in.  "  An'  it's 
s'  narrer  an'  skimpy  it  don't  take  no 
goods  t'  speak  of." 

"  Oh,  I've  got  plenty  of  goods,"  Miss 
Philura  said,  but  she  couldn't  for  the  life 
of  her  help  a  compassionate  glance  in  the 
direction  of  the  girl. 

"  I've  got  a  real  stylish  skirt  pattern," 
pursued  the  dressmaker ;  "  you  c'n  take  it 
jus'  's  well  's  not,  'tain't  no  work  at  all. 
I'll  pin  it  on  t'  you  t'  see  how  much  it'll 
want  takin'  in." 

"  Thank  you,  Malvina,"  Miss  Philura 
said  gratefully. 

But  she  was  thinking  with  almost  pain- 
ful sympathy  of  the  tall,  pale  girl  who  by 
this  time  was  sewing  hooks  and  eyes  down 
the  back  of  a  maroon  coloured  waist  of 
ample  proportions. 

"  Don't  put  'em  more  'n  half  an  inch 
apart,  Jennie,"  cautioned  Miss  Bennett, 
with  her  mouth  full  of  pins.  "  That's 
[88] 


Mzss  Fhilura^s   Wedding  Gown 

Mis'  Buckthorn's  waist,  an'  she's  s' 
fleshy  you  have  t'  be  extry  careful  with 
plackets  an'  openin's  of  all  sorts.  For  all 
she's  s'  holy  she's  awful  hard  t'  suit.  I 
mos'  died  over  the  set  o'  that  waist.  She 
wanted  t'  look  slim  like  the  picture. 

"'Mis'  Buckthorn,'  I  sez,  'the  Lord 
didn't  make  you  up  that  way,'  'n'  she  tol' 
me  I  wasn't  t'  take  the  name  of  the  Lord 
my  God  in  vain.  '  We're  frail  children  of 
dust,'  she  sa^^s,  reprovin'  like. 

"  *  Frail?  '  I  sez,  an'  teeheed  right  out. 
An'  Genevieve  she  laughed  too.  But  Mis' 
Buckthorn  said  she'd  pray  for  me.  She 
always  says  that  when  she  wants  to  set 
down  hard  on  anybody.  An'  I  will  say  it 
takes  the  tuck  right  out  o'  me  every  time. 
The's  somethin'  about  the  idea  that  goes 
agin  the  grain.  An'  yet  I  don't  s'pose 
it'd  do  any  real  Jiarm.'^ 

Miss  Bennett  stood  up  to  observe  Miss 
Philura's   small  person  invested  with  the 
brown  paper  pattern. 
[89] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

"There!"  she  exclaimed,  "that'll  be 
real  pretty  on  you.  Ef  you  was  only  a 
mite  taller  now;  but  as  I  toP  Mis'  Buck- 
thorn, we  can't  b'  thinkin'  change  one 
cubic.  Now  I'll  jes'  trace  off  that  pat- 
tern.    'Twon't  take  a  minute." 

When  the  two  women  went  downstairs 
Genevieve  Parsons  let  two  big  tears  splash 
on  the  front  of  Mrs.  Buckthorn's  maroon- 
coloured  waist.  Her  young  heart  was  in 
a  tumult  of  rebellion  against  the  dull  pat- 
tern of  her  life, —  how  she  hated  the  jar- 
gon of  the  dress-making  shop:  pins,  pip- 
ings, patterns,  plackets ;  the  everlasting 
taking  in  and  letting  out.  The  painful 
strivings  after  beauty  by  the  hopelessly 
ugly ;  the  small  mean  economies ;  the  end- 
less monotony  of  the  narrow  treadmill  be- 
tween the  sewing-machine  and  the  chair  by 
the  window. 

Her  mother,  an  excellent  but  wholly  un- 
imaginative person,  had  chosen  Genevieve's 
career  for  her  when  she  was  a  little  girl, 
[90] 


Miss  Fhilura^s   Wedding  Go-usn    , 

sewing  dolls'  frocks.  She  was  to  take 
a  course  in  dress-making  when  she  had 
graduated  from  the  high  school.  They 
were  poor,  and  the  girl  had  always  thought 
of  herself  as  earning  money.  She  had 
even  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  she 
should  have  a  shop  of  her  own.  This 
had  been  the  pinnacle  of  Mrs.  Parson's  am- 
bition for  her,  and  the  girl  had  accepted 
it  without  question.  Then  she  had  met 
him,  and  everything  was  changed. 

All  had  been  just  as  her  mother  had 
planned  it  up  to  that  point.  Genevieve 
had  graduated  in  a  white  muslin  gown  of 
her  own  making.  Then  she  had  gone  to 
the  Art  School  and  learned  dress-making 
in  a  course  of  twenty  lessons.  After  that 
she  sewed  for  Miss  Popham,  who  some- 
times went  out  by  the  day,  with  an  assist- 
ant, to  make  gowns  for  people  who  im- 
ported their  best  things  from  Paris. 

This  was  an  exceptional  opportunity, 
Miss  Popham  impressed  upon  the  girl,  of 
[91] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

whom  she  demanded  the  maximum  of  work 
at  the  minimum  of  wages.  But  Genevieve 
was  satisfied.  In  these  great  dull  houses 
one  generally  worked  in  the  third  storyi 
back  room,  and  ate  a  meagre  lunch 
brought  up  on  a  tray  by  a  supercilious 
maid;  but  there  were  occasional  glimpses 
to  be  had  of  the  unknown  world,  snatches 
of  music,  bits  of  conversation.  Even  the 
fittings,  conducted  by  Miss  Popham  in  the 
state  bedroom  below  stairs,  where  Gene- 
vieve was  sometimes  called  to  assist  — 
even  on  these  occasions  when  she  played 
the  part  of  an  animated  pin-cushion, 
there  was  food  for  the  imagination. 

It  was  a  rainy  night  in  December  when 
the  psychological  instant  had  arrived, 
quite  unexpectedly.  Only  the  girl  never 
referred  to  it  as  pyschological ;  she  only 
thought  of  it  as  "  the  first  time  I  saw 
him." 

Miss  Popham  had  just  completed  a  mas- 
terly copy  of  a  Paris  gown  (at  a  fifth  of 
[92] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

its  cost)  and  was  crawling  about  the  floor 
on  her  hands  and  knees,  intent  on  the 
"  hang  "  of  the  skirt  on  the  majestic  per- 
son of  her  employer.  Genevieve  was 
handing  pins,  as  usual,  when  the  door 
opened  and  a  young  m.an  came  in.  He 
had  apparently  just  arrived  from  some- 
where, for  he  carried  a  suit-case  and  um- 
brella. 

"  Hello,  mother,"  he  said  with  boyish 
eagerness.  Then  he  planted  a  kiss  on  the 
lady's  plump  florid  cheek. 

"  Oh,  my  dear !  "  protested  the  matron. 
"  Don't  you  see  I'm  having  a  fitting?  " 

"  You're  always  having  something," 
grumbled  the  boy.  "  Last  time  I  came 
home  it  was  a  reception,  and  the  time  be- 
fore that  —  " 

"  You  had  best  dress  for  dinner,"  his 
mother  interrupted  coldly,  "  and,  pray, 
give  Rogers  your  bag  when  you  come  in." 

The  intruder  turned,  his  ruddy  good 
looks  clouded  by  a  frown.  He  muttered 
[93] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

something  under  his  breath,  and  then  — 
Genevieve  Parsons  drew  a  sharp  breath, 
—  and  then  it  just  happened  that  he 
glanced  about  the  room  and  chanced  to 
see  her, —  it  was  the  merest  chance,  of 
course ;  but  it  was  strangely  like  the  meet- 
ing of  old  friends. 

She  was  sure  she  didn't  know  how  it 
ever  came  about ;  but  in  less  than  a  month 
he  had  managed  to  convince  Genevieve's 
mother  that  he  was  a  "  real  nice  young 
man."  Beyond  that  Mrs.  Parsons,  for 
one,  was  never  known  to  go.  He  drank  tea 
with  them  on  Sunday  nights,  and  praised 
Mrs.  Parson's  biscuit  and  raspberry  jam, 
which  he  said  was  the  best  he  ever  ate. 
Once  he  invited  Genevieve  to  go  with  him 
to  a  foot-ball  game  ;  she  wore  her  prettiest 
clothes,  which  by  this  time  had  taken  on 
an  air  quite  Parisienne,  carried  a  Harvard 
flag,  and  was  as  happy  as  a  girl  may  be  at 
the  great  spectacle  of  youth.  The 
crowds,  the  shouting  and  the  victory  for 
[94] 


]\Iiss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

the  Crimson  warmed  her  somewhat  cold 
and  timid  beauty  into  a  loveliness  so  strik- 
ing that  numbers  of  his  college  friends 
crowded  about  eager  to  be  introduced  to 
the  pretty  Boston  girl. 

That  night  he  told  her  that  he  loved 
her,  quite  simply  and  boyishly,  and  she  had 
allowed  him  to  kiss  her.  He  would  gradu- 
ate in  June,  he  said,  and  they  would  be 
married  directly  afterward. 

Well,  it  was  November  now  and  they 
were  parted  —  for  ever,  she  told  herself. 
It  was  his  mother,  as  anyone  but  a  little 
goose  like  Genevieve  might  have  expected. 
She  actually  came  to  see  Genevieve,  in  her 
limousine,  attended  by  a  footman  in  but- 
tons, and  wearing  one  of  Miss  Popham's 
French  gowns. 

The  Parsons  lived  in  a  very  small,  very 
shabby  little  house,  one  of  a  long  row  of 
shabby  little  houses,  all  drearily  alike,  and 
very  far  removed  from  Beacon  Street.  It 
was  quite  the  proper  environment  for  "  the 
[95] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

masses  "  (since  they  were  to  be  found 
there  in  such  numbers),  but  it  had  not  up 
to  the  present  moment  occurred  to  Gene- 
vieve Parsons  that  she  was  a  part  of  that 
great  general  division  of  humanity.  His 
mother  was  very  kind.  She  did  not,  as 
she  might  have  done,  reproach  Genevieve. 
There  was  something  so  piteous,  so  de- 
spairing in  the  young  face,  that  even  the 
great  lady  in  the  Popham  French  gown 
was  touched  by  it.  But  she  made  her 
understand  how  impossible  —  how  utterly, 
entirely,  absurdly  impossible  it  all  was. 

She  spoke  of  her  son  as  that  foolish 
boy,  and  reproached  herself  for  neglect- 
ing him. 

When  Mrs.  Parsons  had  attempted  to 
interfere  with  strident  protests  to  the  ef- 
fect that  she  guessed  her  Genevieve  was 
"  just  as  good  as  anybody  else,"  adding 
further  relevant  information  pertaining  to 
the  Peabody  and  Winthrop  connection,  the 
great  lady  had  merely  stared  at  her 
[96] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

through  her  lorgnette,  with  a  perfectly 
appropriate  remark  which  appeared  to  cut 
the  interview  ofF  short,  like  a  length  of 
ribbon  under  a  pair  of  sharp  scissors. 

Thereupon  she  had  swept  out  to  her 
limousine :  the  door  had  been  neatly  shut 
by  the  footman  in  buttons ;  and  the  whole 
shining  vision  had  disappeared  in  a  cloud 
of  East  Boston  dust,  which  hung  dis- 
piritedly in  the  air  before  settling  on  the 
grimy  little  houses. 

She  saw  him  once  more  to  say  good-bye. 
He  had  protested  hotly,  vainly.  He 
would  be  of  age  in  a  month.  He  would 
marry  whom  he  chose.  His  mother  had 
no  right  — not  a  vestige  of  a  right  to 
spoil  his  happiness.  What  did  Genevieve 
care  what  anyone  said,  as  long  as  he  loved 

her? 

But  the  Peabody  and  Winthrop  pride 
was  alive  and  dominant  in  this  humble 
descendant. 

«  It  breaks  my  heart,"  she  had  sobbed, 
^   [97] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

"  but  I  p-promised  your  mother  that  I  — 
I  wouldn't  — " 

"You  promised  my  mother?  "  he  cried. 
"  But  you  promised  me  first." 

In  the  end  he  had  gone  away  —  only  to 
come  again  the  next  day  and  the  next. 
Then  in  despair  the  girl  had  sworn  her 
mother  to  secrecy  and  taken  flight  to  Mal- 
vina  Bennett's  upper  front  room,  where 
it  appeared  she  must  remain  for  un- 
counted years,  sewing  on  hooks  and  eyes 
and  learning  to  lay  milliner's  folds. 


[98] 


VII 

Below  stairs  ]\lalvlna  Bennett  was  say- 
ing good-bye  to  her  neighbour.  They 
had  been  talking  together  for  a  matter 
of  twenty  minutes  in  the  halL  Now  Miss 
Philura  had  advanced  as  far  as  the  front 
door.     She  laid  her  hand  upon  the  knob. 

"  I  must  be  going,"  she  said,  "  I  know 
you  are  very  busy,  Malvina." 

"  Yes ;  I  be,"  responded  the  dress- 
maker, "  —  turrible  busy,  what  with  get- 
tin'  Mis'  Buckthorn's  waist  done  —  she 
wants  it  to  wear  t'  your  weddin'.  An' 
that  reminds  me,  you  ain't  told  me  yet 
what  you're  goin'  t'  be  married  in." 

"  I'm  going  to  be  married  in  a  white 
dress,  Malvina,"  Miss  Philura  said,  and 
a  soft  radiance  overspread  her  face,  as 
she  remembered  the  chrysanthemums  in 
the  snow. 

After  a  pause  she  added  timidly, 
[99] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

"  Mr.  Pettibone  likes  white.  He  thinks 
white  would  be  most  becoming  and  —  and 
suitable." 

Almost  breathlessly  she  waited  for  the 
dressmaker's  verdict.  It  came  without 
delay. 

"  I  dunno's  I  should  have  thought  of  it, 
first  off,"  mused  Miss  Bennett.  "  So 
many  folks  think  of  gettin'  wear  out  of 
their  weddin'  dresses  afterward.  But 
seems  t'  me  seein'  mos'  folks  don't  get  mar- 
ried more'n  three  times  at  the  outside,  's 
though  they  c'd  afford  a  special  dress.  I 
know  I  should.  'N'  I  d'clare  I'd  be  mar- 
ried in  white,  if  I  was  a  hundred, —  any- 
way ef  it  was  the  first  time.  'Course  it 
don't  matter  about  his  bein'  a  widower." 

Miss  Philura  turned  the  knob  and 
opened  the  door. 

"  Did  you  git  it  ready-made  ? "  in- 
quired Miss  Bennett,  in  an  aggrieved 
voice.  "  I'd  kind  o'  thought  mebbe  you'd 
let  me  make  it  for  you,  seein'  we've  been 
[100] 


Miss  Fhtlura's  Wedding  Gown 

neighbours  s'  many  years,  and  you  a-goin* 
t'  marry  the  minister." 

It  had  been  on  the  tip  of  her  V>ngue 
to  say  that  she  had  made  the  first  Mrs. 
Pettibone's  shroud;  but  she  thoughtfully 
forbore. 

Miss  Philura  shook  her  head. 
"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  haven't  bought  the 
dress." 

"  Have  you  got  the  goods?  " 
"  Not    yet.     I    have    the    silk    thread, 
though,   and   the  button-hole  twist.     It's 
cream  white." 

"  That's  good.  I  don't  like  dead  white, 
nor  oyster  white,  neither.  It  looks  kind 
o'  cold  an'  dead  t'  me.  Will  you  let  me 
make  it,  Philura?  I'd  admire  t'  do  it. 
An'  I  won'  take  a  cent  fer  it." 

Miss  Philura's  eyes  shone  with  grati- 
tude; a  deep  happiness  filled  her  breast. 
The  wedding-dress  was  still  in  the  Encir- 
cling Good,  but  she  had  the  silk  thread, 
and  Malvina  would  make  it. 
[101] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

"  You  needn't  bother  about  findln's 
either,"  pursued  Miss  Bennett  eagerly. 
"  I've  got  some  real  han'some  paz'mentry, 
with  pearl  beads  I  saved  bfF  ma's  weddin'- 
dress.  It's  the  latest  style  now ;  'n'  I 
know  just  the  prettiest  way  to  make  the 
skirt." 

"  How  good  you  are,  Malvina,"  mur- 
mured Miss  Philura,  joyously  adding  the 
white  passementerie  to  the  visible  portion 
of  the  invisible  wedding  garment. 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  ain't  forgot  how  good 
you  was  to  me  last  winter  when  I  was  all 
crippled  up  with  rheumatism.  I'll  come 
in  the  evenin'  an'  help  you  cut  out  the  bro- 
cade you've  got.  An',  say,  wouldn't  you 
like  t'  have  Genevieve  for  a  day  or  two 
t'  help  make  it  up?  The  change'd  do  her 
good." 

"  Well,  I  —  I'd  like  it  very  much ; 
only  —  " 

"  She  wouldn't  expect  no  pay  from  3^ou. 
She's  workin'  fer  me  b'  the  month.  An' 
[102] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

I'd  like  t'  get  rid  of  her  fer  a  few  days. 
It's  awful  worritin'  t'  hev  anybody  about 
that's  been  crossed  in  love.  You  c'n  feel 
it  ail  through  your  bones  like  an  east 
wind." 

Miss  Philura  thoughtfully  closed  the 
front  door,  through  which  a  keen  wind 
had  begun  to  draw. 

"  I  must  be  going,"  she  said  gently. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Philura ;  I'll  send 
Genevieve  over  early  t'morrow." 

Miss  Philura  was  thinking  about  the 
girl  as  she  went  down  the  path  to  the 
front  gate.  She  hoped  she  would  talk  to 
her  about  her  unhappy  love  affair.  In 
the  All-encircling  Good  was  happiness, 
she  was  sure,  and  balm  for  bruised  spir- 
its. 

"  There  is  an  abundance  of  every- 
thing," she  reminded  herself,  " —  a  lav- 
ish abundance  of  everything  —  for  every- 
body !  " 

She  drew  a  deep  breath  of  ecstasy ;  the 
[103] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

blood  danced  through  her  veins  bringing 
back  her  youth,  which,  after  all,  had 
never  been  lost,  but  only  softly  overlaid 
with  years,  like  a  chrysanthemum  under 
the  snow. 

The  butter-woman's  wagon  was  tied  in 
front  of  Miss  Philura's  door,  and  Huldah 
herself  confronted  her  as  she  opened  the 
gate. 

"  I  didn't  das  t'  leave  anything  on  the 
stoop  for  fear  of  the  cat,"  said  the  but- 
ter-woman, "  so  I  dumb  int'  the  kitchen 
window  an'  put  the  things  on  the  table. 
Mind  you  eat  'em  all.  'Tain't  any  too 
much  if  you  expect  t'  get  any  fat  ont' 
your  bones  b'  Thanksgivin'." 

She  gazed  critically  at  Miss  Philura, 
her  head  on  one  side. 

"  Seems  t'  me  you're  a  mite  fleshier 
than  you  was  las'  time  I  was  here.  Any 
way,  you  ain't  near  s'  peaked-lookin'  an' 
you've  got  a  shine  in  your  eyes  — " 

"  It's  because  I'm  so  happy,"  said  Miss 
[104] 


Miss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

Philura    truthfully.     "Everybody    is    so 
good  —  so  kind  !  " 

The  Encircling  Good  seemed  very  near. 
It  shone  in  the  bright  dark  eyes  of  the 
butter-woman.  She  had  seen  it  in  Mal- 
vina  Bennett's  worn  face,  when  she  had  of- 
fered to  make  the  wedding-dress. 

"  Did  yoii  mind  what  I  said  —  'n'  eat 
up  every  thin'  I  brought  you.'^  "  the  but- 
ter-woman was  inquiring. 

Miss  Philura  blushed. 

"I  —  I  only  took  two  or  three  fresh 
eggs  to  old  Mrs.  Davis;  her  hens  have 
stopped  laying ;  and  a  bit  of  the  —  only 
a  small  piece  of  the  chicken  to  — " 

The  butter-woman  laughed,  a  deep, 
mellow  laugh. 

"  'Course  you  did,"  she  said.  "  You 
couldn't  no  more  help  givin'  things  away 
'an  a  bird  c'n  help  singin'.  I  knew  you 
would.  You'll  make  a  firstrate  minister's 
wife;  but  I'll  bet  you'll  never  git  real 
fat." 

[105] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope  not,"  said  Miss  Phi- 
lura  fervently. 

The  butter-woman  was  looking  at  her 
keenly. 

"'Tain't  but  two  weeks  t'  Thanks- 
givin',"  she  said  slowly.  "  I  remember 
once  —  a  long  time  ago  — " 

Her  voice  trailed  into  silence.  Then 
she  shook  herself,  very  much  after  the 
fashion  of  a  big  shaggy  animal. 

"It's  kind  o'  wintry;  ain't  it?  "  she  said 
loudly ;  "  I  like  it  though.  An'  my  hens 
is  layin'  right  along.  I  keep  'em  warm 
an'  give  'em  plenty  t'  eat." 

She  started  briskly  forward. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anythin'  like  that 
horse  o'  mine?  Joshua,  he  c'n  go  t'  sleep 
on  two  legs,  kind  o'  kitty-cornered.  D' 
you  see?  " 

She  climbed  into  her  wagon. 

"  Good-bye !  "  she  called  out.  "  I'll  be 
here  next  week." 

IVliss  Philura  went  slowly  into  the 
[106] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

house,     thinking     of    the     butter-woman. 
She   knew   what    it   was    to   live   alone  — 
just  to  live,  without  any  particular  inter- 
est to  enliven  the   dull  monotony  of  the 
passing  days.     Now  for  her  a  door  had 
opened  suddenly  into  a  wonderful  garden, 
full  of  bright  hued  flowers.     That  is  the 
way  it  looked  to  Miss  Philura.     She  had 
never    thought    of   the   parsonage    as    an 
ugly,   old-fashioned  house,  very   much  in 
need  of  fresh  paint  and  paper,  nor  of  the 
minister  as  a  middle-aged  widower.     The 
parsonage  was  his  home,  and  she  was  go- 
ing to  live  there  with  him.     She  was  to  be 
permitted  to  love  him,  to  cook  for  him,  to 
mend  his  stockings  and  sew  the  buttons 
on  his  preaching  clothes.     This  was  hap- 
piness—  joy,  and  it  was  only  two  weeks 
fromi    Thursday.     She    wondered    if    the 
butter-woman  was  happy.     From  her  own 
warm  heart  she  sent  a  great  wave  of  love 
after  the  strong,  broad-shouldered  figure 
perched  on  the  seat  of  the  jolting  wagon, 
[107] 


Miss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

already  up  the  first  steep  slope  of  the  hill 
behind  the  town. 

The  butter-woman  was  whistling 
through  her  closed  teeth  as  she  drove  on- 
ward through  the  fairy  world  which  was 
slowly  coming  back  to  its  common,  every- 
day aspect  under  the  bright  noonday. 
There  was  a  subdued  jingle  of  silver  in  the 
pocket  of  her  stout  woollen  dress.  A 
pound  of  coffee  gave  forth  its  subtle  fra- 
grance from  the  basket  under  the  seat. 
She  owed  nothing  to  anyone  in  the  world, 
and  there  was  a  slow-growing  fund  in  the 
savings  bank. 

Huldah  Johnson  saw  other  people's 
lives  from  their  back  door-steps,  on  Tues- 
days and  Thursdays.  She  never  asked 
questions  nor  spied  curiously  into  the 
kitchens  opened  to  her  decisive  knock,  and 
yet  her  shrewd  eyes  saw  much  that  the 
owners  of  the  kitchens  supposed  to  be  con- 
cealed from  the  world.  She  knew  who 
would  haggle  with  her  over  the  price  of 
[108] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

her  new-laid  eggs,  and  the  rolls  of  fresh 
butter.  It  was  a  pleasure  which  Huldah 
never  denied  herself  to  enter  into  heated 
argument  with  certain  women,  who  never- 
theless paid  the  hard  silver  into  her  hard 
palm  when  the  petty  strife  was  ended. 
Huldah  demanded  and  got  more  for  her 
farm  products  than  the  village  stores 
asked  for  like  commodities  brought  from 
a  distance.  It  was  little  she  knew  con- 
cerning cold  storage  or  preservatives,  and 
she  cared  less.  Her  eggs  were  always 
fresh,  her  butter  fragrant  and  her  chick- 
ens plump  and  neatly  dressed. 

"  If  you  don't  want  'em  at  my  price 
you  don't  have  t'  take  'em,"  was  her  final 
dictum. 

Perhaps  Huldah  had  grown  a  trifle 
hard  and  cynical  during  her  solitary  life ; 
she  had  reasons.  There  were  people  even 
in  Innisfield  who  never  found  fault  with 
her  prices,  who  were  always  ready  to  take 
what  she  had.  But  they  would  pay  next 
[109] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

time, —  or  could  she,  perhaps,  change  a 
twenty  dollar  bill  ?  Unexpectedly  Huldah 
said  "  yes,"  on  one  such  occasion.  When 
the  woman  blushed,  stammered,  and  finally 
said  she  had  really  forgotten,  but  that 
very  morning  her  husband  had  borrowed 
the  money  until  evening. 

After  fifteen  years  of  observing  life 
from  Innisfield  kitchen  doors  Huldah  knew 
her  narrow  world  far  better  than  the  min- 
ister, and  quite  as  well  as  the  butcher  and 
the  grocer,  whose  knowledge  of  human 
kind  is  sure  to  become  wide  and  deep. 

And  so  Huldah  often  whistled  through 
her  closed  teeth  as  her  patient  old  horse 
climbed  the  steep  hill  behind  the  town, 
while  she  thought  over  the  experiences  of 
the  morning.  There  was  always  food  for 
thought  in  what  she  had  seen  and  heard. 
On  the  whole,  Huldah  was  singularly  con- 
tent, as  she  turned  her  back  upon  the 
clustered  houses,  where  people  were  get- 
ting ready  to  be  married,  were  bringing 
[  110] 


Miss  Fhilura^s   Wedding  Gown 

children  into  the  world,  or  were  dying  — 
and  continually  struggling  to  pay  what 
life  cost  them.  It  always  appeared  to 
cost  cruelly,  even  at  its  beginning  and  end. 
when  for  the  most  part  other  people  were 
obliged  to  pay. 

It  was  lonely  but  peaceful  up  on  the 
crest  of  the  hill,  and  the  weather-beaten 
little  house  seemed  far  removed  from  the 
toil  and  struggle  of  the  valley.  The 
furry  and  feathered  creatures  which  fur- 
nished her  livelihood  lived  tranquilly  and 
died  (when  she  so  decreed  it)  without  pro- 
test. 

Huldah  drove  into  her  own  yard,  wel- 
comed by  the  cackle  of  fowls  and  the  joy- 
ous bark  of  a  watchful  collie.  She  put 
up  her  horse  with  the  usual  care,  gave  the 
fowls  some  grain,  then  unlocked  the  back 
door  and  entered  the  warm,  silent  kitchen. 
The  kitchen  in  Huldah's  house  was  large 
and  two  windows  looked  toward  the  south. 
There  was  a  shining  cook-stove,  braided 

[111] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

mats  on  the  yellow  painted  floor,  where 
the  sun  lay  in  golden  squares,  and  a  calla 
lily  unfolding  its  first  white  sheath  amid 
leaves  of  brilliant  green.  On  the  back  of 
the  stove  a  brown  earthenware  tea-pot 
simmered  in  the  heat.  Huldah  liked  her 
tea  brewed  long  and  strong.  She  poured 
a  cup  of  the  steaming  liquid  and  drank  it 
clear;  then  she  cut  two  thick  slices  of 
bread  and  a  slab  of  cheese  and  sat  down 
to  warm  her  feet  in  the  oven. 

"  I  guess,"  she  said  aloud  between  bites 
of  the  bread  and  cheese,  "  that  it's  better 
as  it  is." 

She  had  said  this  to  herself  many  times 
before,  and  at  last  she  had  come  to  believe 
it. 

"  S'pose  he'd  come  back,"  she  went  on, 
stroking  the  striped  kitten  that  had 
jumped  to  her  knee,  intent  upon  the 
crumbs  of  cheese,  "  just  s'posen  he  had, 
'n'  I'd  'a'  married  him.  I  might  'a'  been 
dead  long  ago,  with  a  baby  in  m'  arms, 
[112] 


Mus  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

like  that  poor  little  thing  they  took  me  in 
t'  see  this  morning.  I  might  'a',  who 
knows.  Or  I  might  'a'  lived  t'  stan'  b'  his 
grave  with  a  row  of  hungry  children  at 
my  back,  like  Mrs.  Peter  Snell.  Land!  I 
guess  I  wasn't  made  fer  it.  It's  a  heap 
easier  's  'tis." 

She  stretched  her  broad,  muscular 
hands  to  the  heat  of  the  stove  and  sur- 
veyed them  intently, 

"  The'  ain't  nothin'  I  can't  do  fer 
m'self,"  she  said  defiantly.  "  An'  I  ain't 
lonesome  —  not  a  mite.     No,  ma'am !  " 

She  arose  presently,  shook  the  crumbs 
from  her  skirt,  poked  the  fire  noisily,  then 
tramped  across  the  floor  to  the  window, 
her  heavy  shoes  echoing  loudly  in  the 
quiet  house. 

"  I  tell  you  I  ain't  lonesome,"  she  mut- 
tered. "  I  don't  want  nothin'  different 
from  what  it  is.  Why,  land !  I  don't  have 
no  trouble  compared  with  most  folks. 
Look  at  'em ;  then  look  at  me.  I'm  strong 
[113] 


Mdss  Fhilura^s  Wedding  Gown 

an'  healthy,  an'  I've  got  money  laid  up  an' 
—  an'  the'  ain't  nobody  t'  bother  me ! " 

Then  suddenly  her  strong  features  be- 
came convlused,  and  she  beat  the  window 
sill  with  her  fists. 

"  Oh,  Tom  —  Tom !  "  she  moaned. 
"  It's  an  awful  long  time, —  an'  me  all 
alone  since  father  died." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  arms,  and 
so  was  silent  for  a  time,  while  a  whining 
wind  crept  stealthily  about  the  house,  and 
the  clock  ticked  solemnly  from  its  corner. 

Somewhere  a  great  way  off  a  cock 
crowed,  announcing  the  hour  of  noon.  It 
was  echoed  from  Huldah's  barnyard, 
twice,  thrice.  Then  all  was  still  once 
more,  only  the  whining  wind  stole  into  the 
chimney  and  moaned  there,  like  an  impris- 
oned thing. 

In  the  long  look  behind,  which  the  but- 
ter-woman in  the  midst  of  her  bustling  ac- 
tivities had  paused  to  take,  she  saw  the 
self  that  had  been  and  the  self  that  might 
[114] 


Mzss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

have  been.  Then  stepping  softly,  hke  one 
In  the  presence  of  the  dead,  she  moved 
across  the  floor  to  where  a  battered  chest 
stood  against  the  walL  It  had  been 
painted  a  dull  blue,  and  on  its  top  worked 
out  in  brass  headed  nails  was  a  device  of 
crossed  anchors  and  a  name,  Thomas 
Bowles. 

She  lifted  the  lid  and  looked  in.  Then 
one  by  one  she  took  out  the  articles  within 
and  laid  them  on  the  floor  beside  the  chest, 
a  seaman's  blouse,  a  huge  shell,  pink  and 
white,  like  a  baby's  palm ;  other  smaller 
shells,  alive  with  the  iridescent  mystery 
of  the  sea ;  many-hued  corals,  a  string  of 
curious  dark  beads,  exhaling  the  odour  of 
spices. 

All  of  these  things  the  butter-woman  re- 
moved :  then  crouched  beside  the  chest  she 
leaned  her  chin  upon  her  rough,  red  hands 
and  stared  down  at  the  one  thing  which 
remained  therein.  It  was  an  oblong  box 
of  shining  wood,  inlaid  with  many-coloured 
[115] 


Miss  Fhilura^s   Wedding  Gozun 

bits  of  shell  in  a  design  of  flowers  and, 
leaves. 

It  had  not  grown  old,  she  was  thinking. 
It  would  never  grow  old.  For  an  instant 
she  saw  it,  as  she  had  first  seen  it  years 
before,  through  an  aching  blur  of  tears. 
Then  she  took  it  in  her  lap,  and  sitting 
flat  on  the  floor  opened  it. 

A  faint  odour  of  roses  crept  from  the 
box  and  stole  through  the  room,  like  a 
gentle  ghost  of  the  long  ago.  There 
were  folds  of  tissue  paper  within.  The 
woman  touched  them,  her  rough  hands 
grown  suddenly  tremulous.  Then  she  de- 
liberately lifted  the  paper  and  gazed  at 
what  it  hid  —  for  a  long  minute. 


[1161 


vin 

When  Mr.  George  Trimmer  entered 
his  store  on  the  Wednesday  morning  im- 
mediately succeeding  the  Monday,  on 
which  his  pastor  had  issued  his  bold  ulti- 
matum, he  was  obviously  in  a  very  bad 
temper.  Mr.  Adelbert  Small,  regularly 
employed  in  the  Emporium  for  a  matter 
of  ten  years  back,  knew  the  signs  and 
cautiously  retreated  to  his  desk  in  the  rear 
of  the  store,  where  during  certain  hours 
of  each  day  he  was  engaged  in  the  book- 
keeping end  of  the  business. 

Mr.  Small  was  an  undersized  man,  with 
what  is  known  as  a  sandy  complexion  and 
rather  watery  blue  eyes,  rimmed  with  red 
—  the  red  being  a  consequence  of  a  too 
strenuous  application  to  figures  in  the 
semi-darkness  which  prevailed  in  the  rear 
of  the  Emporium.  He  had  been  talking 
with  the  new  clerk  when  both  men  caught 

rini 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

sight  of  the  spare,  stoop-shouldered  figure 
of  their  employer  through  the  plate  glass 
window  at  the  front  of  the  store.  Mr. 
Trimmer  was  twenty  minutes  after  his 
usual  time,  a  fact  which  Adelbert  Small 
had  already  commented  upon. 

"  Gee !  "  murmured  the  experienced 
clerk,  "  there'll  be  a  hot  time  in  th'  ol' 
town,  if  I  ain't  mistaken  in  the  weather 
signs." 

He  climbed  nimbly  to  his  stool  and  was 
deep  in  figures  when  the  door  closed  be- 
hind Mr.  Trimmer. 

"  Good-morning,  sir,"  said  Milton 
Gregory,  with  perfect  propriety  of  tone 
and  manner. 

There  are  occasions  when  a  smiling  po- 
liteness acts  as  a  species  of  mental  mus- 
tard plaster.  It  is  a  tacit  rebuke  to  ruf- 
fled tempers,  and  suggests  a  certain 
smug  superiority  quite  maddening  to  per- 
sons of  an  irritable  disposition. 

Mr.  Trimmer  merely  growled  as  he 
[118] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gozvn 

hung  up  his  shabby  overcoat  and  topped 
it  with  a  shabbier  hat. 

'•What  you  fellows  been  doin'?"  he 
demanded,  as  he  removed  the  arctic  over- 
shoes he  wore  at  all  seasons  except  mid- 
summer. "  We  got  t'  do  more  business 
than  we  have  so  far  this  week,  or  I'll  have 
t'  discharge  both  of  you." 

Adelbert  Small  wriggled  uneasily  upon 
his  stool.     He  had  heard  this  threat  many 
times  before :  but  it  never  failed  to  arouse 
his  apprehensions.     Mr.  Small  was  a  fam- 
ily man,  with  a  sickly  wife  and  two  chil- 
dren, "  small  by  name  and  small  all  over," 
to  quote  their  father's  frequently  uttered 
aphorism     concerning     them.     Therefore 
his  "  job  "  as  he  called  it,  was  of  the  ut- 
most importance.     He  was  in  the  habit  of 
prefacing  most  of  his  modest  plans  with 
the  words  "  If  I  don't  lose  my  job,"  or  "  If 
I  c'n  hold  down  that  job  of  mine  awhile 
longer,  I'll  —  "  and  so  forth.     This  was 
very  depressing  to   Mrs.   Small,  who   de- 
[119] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

clared  she  suffered  from  an  access  of  nerv- 
ousness every  Saturday  afternoon,  for 
fear  Adelbert  would  come  home  without 
his  job.  As  for  the  little  Smalls,  they 
frolicked,  as  it  were,  upon  the  brink  of  a 
jobless  future. 

Therefore  it  was  that  Adelbert  blinked 
his  watery  eyes  over  the  columns  of  figures 
he  was  adding,  and  nervously  curled  his 
toes  behind  the  rung  of  his  stool  and  was 
silent. 

The  new  clerk,  however,  answered  with 
great    cheerfulness. 

"Doing?"  he  echoed.  "  WTiy,  we've 
swept  the  store,  uncovered  the  stock,  and 
I've  arranged  the  windows,  in  the  way  I 
spoke  of  yesterday.  Did  you  notice  them, 
sir?" 

Mr.  Trimmer  had  noticed  the  windows, 
dressed  in  a  manner  which  would  have 
done  credit  to  a  city  shop.  But  he  merely 
grunted. 

"  I   thought   trade   was   pretty   brisk, 
[120] 


jj 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

continued  the  young  man,  with  admirable 
aplomb.  "  We  had  quite  a  run  on  hand- 
kerchiefs yesterday." 

"Oh,  we  did  —  heh.?  An'  you  think 
trade  is  pretty  brisk  —  huh.?  Well, 
you're  a  very  smart  young  man  —  very 
smart  an'  knowin'.  But  you'll  find  your- 
self out  of  a  job  some  o'  these  fine  days 
along  with  your  smartness.  Then  mebbe 
you'll  set  up  in  business  for  ^^ourself.  I 
guess  you're  a  leetle  too  smart  for  me." 

"  Do  3^ou  want  me  to  leave  to-day, 
sir  ?  "  inquired  Milton  Gregory,  with  what 
Mr.  Trimmer  set  down  as  "  an  impident 
smile  "  at  his  employer.  Then  he  glanced 
toward  the  corner  where  his  own  hat  and 
coat  were  bestowed,  with  a  purposeful 
air. 

"  When  I  want  you  t'  quit  I'll  let  you 
know,"  snapped  Mr.  Trimmer.  "  There's 
a  customer  comin'  in.     Git  busy  1  " 

It  was  Miss  Philura  Rice  in  quest  of  a 
spool  of  silk.      She  was  quite  intent  upon 
[121] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

a  scrap  of  brocade  whose  colour  she 
wished  to  match,  but  when  the  young  man 
came  forward  with  his  pleasant  smile,  she 
gazed  at  him  with  wide,  uncomprehending 
eyes. 

"Why  —  why!  What — "  she  stam- 
mered. 

"  You  are  surprised  to  see  me?  "  he  in- 
quired. "  Don't  you  think  it's  time  I 
went  to  work?  " 

"  But  —  but  — " 

"  Do  you  want  purple  or  black?  "  asked 
the  young  man ;  he  had  taken  the  scrap  of 
silk  and  was  turning  it  over  in  his  strong 
brown  fingers  with  a  smile. 

"  Purple,  I  think,  a  ten  cent  spool. 
When  did  you  —  come  ?  " 

"  Last  week,"  he  said,  holding  a  spool 
for  her  inspection.  "  Is  that  about  right? 
I'm  coming  to  call  soon,  if  I  may."  He 
smiled  down  into  her  agitated  face  with 
great  good  humour. 

"  It  was  such  a  surprise,"  said  Miss 
[122] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

Philura.  "  I'm  sure  I  never  —  I  never 
should  have  expected  — " 

She  was  fumbling  in  her  purse  and  he 
could  not  help  seeing  how  shabby  and  how 
nearly  empty  it  was. 

"  You  haven't  told  me  whether  I  mav 
come  to  see  you,"  he  reminded  her,  as  he 
handed  her  the  change  from  a  quarter  of 
a  dollar. 

"  Oh,  of  course.  I  do  hope  you  will. 
And  I  haven't  inquired  —  is  everyone 
quite  well  —  your  dear  mother  and  — " 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  to  the  con- 
trary," he  told  her,  with  what  a  more 
astute  observer  might  have  set  down  as 
a  slight  bitterness  in  his  voice. 

Then  he  smiled  down  at  her  reassur- 
ingly. 

"  I'm  here  on  —  er  —  business,"  he  went 
on.  "  I'll  be  glad  to  explain  when  I  see 
you.     Might  I  come  to-night?" 

Miss  Philura  hesitated  for  the  fraction 
of  a  minute ;  Mr.  Pettibone  was  in  the 
[123] 


Miss  Fhilura^s   Wedding  Gown 

habit  of  dropping  in  of  a  Wednesday  ev- 
ening. But  she  was  determined  not  to  be 
selfish. 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  you  drink 
tea  with  me,"  she  said  with  quaint  cor- 
diality. 

"Here  you,  Milt!"  called  Mr.  Trim- 
mer, jerking  his  thumb  in  the  direction 
of  a  new  customer  at  the  opposite  coun- 
ter. 

I'll  come,"  he  promised  iMiss  Philura. 


a  T>1 


It  was  more  than  an  hour  thereafter 
before  the  stress  of  business  again  per- 
mitted a  short  conversation  between  Mr. 
Trimmer  and  his  junior  clerk. 

"  You  don't  want  t'  git  int'  general 
conversation  with  customers,"  said  Mr. 
Trimmer  sententiously.  "  It  ain't  what 
you're  here  for,  Milt,  and  I  want  you 
should  paste  it  in  your  hat.  Let  the 
women  folks  do  th'  talkin'  an'  you  ten' 
stric'ly  t'  biz.  That's  my  way,  an'  I  ain't 
[124] 


Mdss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

goin'  t'  hev  no  other  in  this  'ere  store. 
You  understan'?  " 

Young  Milton  Gregory  stooped  and 
picked  up  a  scrap  of  paper  from  the  floor. 
He  glanced  at  it  carelessly,  then  tucked  it 
into  his  pocket. 

"  I  think  3^ou  make  it  —  er  —  suffi- 
ciently clear,"  he  replied. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Adelbert  Small,  with  an  apologetic  cough, 
"  but  I  haven't  had  the  opportunity  be- 
fore. When  I  opened  the  store  this  morn- 
ing I  found  this  —  ah  —  under  the  door." 

Mr.  Trimmer  eyed  the  large  square  en- 
velope, which  Mr.  Small  handed  him.  It 
bore  his  own  name  in  small  distinct  char- 
acters, and  the  flap  was  fastened  with  a 
large  Christmas  seal  displaying  the  words 
"  Peace  on  Earth,  Good-will  to  men." 

"  Kind  o'  early  in  the  season  for  that 
sort  of  thing,  I  thought,"  observed  Mr. 
Small  with  a  feeble  attempt  at  a  laugh. 

Mr.  Trimmer  with  great  deliberation 
[125] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

bestowed  the  envelope  in  his  pocket.  He 
thought  he  detected  an  undue  curiosity  on 
the  faces  of  his  employees. 

"Git  back  to  them  books,  Dell,"  he 
bade  his  accountant ;  "  an'  you,  Milt,  put 
some  coal  in  the  furnace." 

Left  to  himself  he  opened  the  envelope. 
It  contained  several  crisp  bank  bills  folded 
inside  a  single  sheet  which  bore  the  words : 
"  For  the  minister's  back  pay.  Better 
get  busy.  A  reporter  from  The  Boston 
Huh  will  be  present  at  the  service  on  Sun- 
day next." 

"  Huh !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Trimmer. 
"  I'd  like  t'  know  who  in  creation  — " 

He  paused  to  count  the  bills.  Then  he 
blinked,  cleared  his  throat,  and  turned  the 
envelope  over. 

"Peace  on  Earth  —  heh?  "  Yet  there 
had  been  a  distinct  threat  conveyed  to  his 
mind  by  the  brief  words  of  the  unknown 
person  who  was  interested  in  the  minis- 
ter's back  pay. 

[126] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

He  was  decidedly  glad,  on  the  whoks^ 
when  the  door  opened  to  admit  the  figure 
of  the  senior  deacon  of  the  church,  who 
was  also  a  member  of  the  board  of 
trustees. 

"  Mornin',  George,"  began  the  deacon, 
rubbing  the  dampness  from  the  end  of  his 
nose  with  the  back  of  his  mittened  hand. 

"  Good  mornin',  deacon,"  responded 
Mr.  Trimmer. 

He  was  still  holding  the  square  envelope 
with  its  enclosure. 

Deacon  Scrimger's  sharp  old  eyes  de- 
tected the  roll  of  yellow-backed  green 
paper  in  Mr.  Trimmer's  hand. 

"  Collections  good  —  heh,"  commented 
the  deacon. 

He  removed  his  striped  mittens,  rolled 
them  up  and  stuffed  them  into  his  bulg- 
ing pocket.  Then  he  produced  an  ancient 
and  hard  worked  bandana  handkerchief 
and  blew  a  bugle  blast. 

"The'  's'  nothin'  like  cold  cash  t'  ile 
[127] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

th'  wheels  o'  trade,"  he  observed  oracu- 
larly. 

Mr.  Trimmer  all  unconsciously  had  di- 
"vested  himself  of  the  calculating  merchant. 
IHe  was  now  Elder  Trimmer,  solemn 
.and  sanctified. 

"  I  have  just  received  a  goodly  contri- 
TDution  to  the  pastor's  salary,"  he  said,  in 
his  best  prayer-meeting  manner.  "  The 
Lord  is  on  our  side !  " 

"  Y'  don't  say?"  cried  the  deacon, 
wagging  his  aquiline  old  face  from  side  to 
side.     "Who  donated  it?" 

"  It's  anonymous,"  Mr.  Trimmer  told 
him.  "  Some  good  brother  doubtless  — " 
He  stole  a  second  glance  at  the  hand- 
writing on  the  single  page  —  "  or  conse- 
crated sister." 

He  coughed  as  if  in  church. 

"  Or  sister,"  he  repeated,  "  who  has 
chosen  to  heed  our  Lord's  command  in 
keeping  the  right  hand  in  —  er  —  igno- 
rance of  what  the  left  hand  hath  —  ah  — 
[128] 


Mdss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

pufformed.  It  is,  in  short,  fifty  dollars. 
An'  thus  encouraged,  I  feel  — " 

"Hallelujah!"  cried  the  deacon. 
"  Mebbe  the  pastor  '11  let  us  off  at  that. 
We  don't  want  no  publicity  in  our  church 
affairs.  I  was  talkin'  with  m'  wife  an' 
Sister  Buckthorn  yist'day,  an'  the  Ladies' 
Aid  '11  contribute  twenty-five  dollars. 
They'll  take  it  out  their  missionary  fund." 

"  It  seems  wrong  t'  deprive  the  hea- 
then— "  began  Mr.  Trimmer. 

"  But  th'  Meth'dists  '11  git  one  on  us,  ef 
the  matter  's  took  t'  Presb'tery,"  inter- 
rupted Deacon  Scrimger.  "  I  hear  the  's 
a  good  deal  o'  talk  a'  ready." 

"  I  regret  that  our  pastor  should  have 
taken  such  a  stand  at  this  time,"  mur- 
mured Mr.  Trimmer. 

"  I  s'pose  we  kin  git  rid  of  him,  an'  git 
a  younger  man,"  suggested  Deacon  Scrim- 
ger briskly.  "  A  young  man  draws  bet- 
ter 'n  a  man  o'  his  age." 

Mr.  Trimmer  was  not  without  certain 
[129] 


Miss  Fhilurd's   Wedding  Gown 

graces  of  character,  though  these  were 
often  in  eclipse.  He  glanced  sharply 
from  the  letter  in  his  hand  to  the  face  of 
his  colleague. 

"  We'd  have  to  pay  up  just  the  same," 
he  said  coldly.  "  'N'  I  don't  want  any 
whipper-snapper  in  the  pulpit.  We'll 
have  t'  get  busy." 

Mr.  Trimmer  did  not,  either  then  or 
later,  show  the  anonymous  communication 
which  had  accompanied  the  gift  of  fifty 
dollars.  But  the  thought  of  the  reporter 
from  The  Boston  Huh  remained  with  him. 
As  treasurer  of  the  board  of  trustees  it 
would  devolve  upon  himself  to  make  a 
financial  statement.  That  report  should 
reflect  credit  upon  Innisfield,  he  was  de- 
termined, and  incidentally  upon  that 
pious  person,  Elder  George  Trimmer. 


[130] 


IX 


Miss  Philxjea  hurried  home  after  her 
brief  interview  with  Mr.  Trimmer's  new 
clerk    in    a    troubled,    agitated    state    of 

mind. 

«  Now  what,"  she  asked  herself,  "  can 

have  happened  to  Gregory?" 

Not  being   able  to   answer  this   query, 
she  harked  back  to  the  once  absorbing  oc- 
cupation of  thinking  about  her  own  duty, 
as  related  to  that  personable  young  man, 
at  the  present  moment  engaged  in  measur- 
ing off   one   and   three-quarters   yards  of 
green  ribbon  for  Miss  Electa  Pratt,  wha 
had  entered  the  Emporium  just  as  Miss 
Philura  Rice  had  left  it. 

Miss  Pratt  had  observed  Miss  Philura's 
agitation,  but  had  attributed  it  to  a 
widely  different  reason. 

She  was  herself  bursting  with  a  piece 
of    information,    which    had     only    just 
[131] 


Miss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

reached  her  after  a  circuitous  route 
through  the  town. 

"  You  ain't  lived  here  long,  have  you?  " 
she  interrogated  the  young  man,  who  was 
wrapping  up  her  purchase. 

She  thought  he  strongly  resembled  a 
picture  she  had  seen  in  an  advertisement 
of  ready-made  clothes ;  he  had  the  same 
clean-shaven,  square  jaw,  straight  nose, 
and  tall,  well-made  figure.  Miss  Electa 
smiled  into  his  grey  eyes  as  she  asked  the 
question, 

"  No ;  I  haven't,"  he  said  briefly. 

"  Then  you  ain't  heard  about  the  min- 
ister? " 

"The  minister?"  he  repeated. 

"  Yes ;  Mr.  Pettibone.  He  was  a-goin' 
t'  git  married  Thanksgivin'  day.  But  I 
guess  mebbe  it  won't  come  off  quite  s'  soon 
after  all." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Trimmer's 
clerk,  with  some  sharpness.  There  had 
been  a  note  of  joy  in  the  lady's  voice, 
[132] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

which   she  had  made  no   attempt   to   dis- 
guise. 

"  The's  strong  feelin'  in  the  community 
that  he'd  better  resign,  an'  I  guess  he's 
goin'  to.  But  o'  course  you  wouldn't  be 
interested,  seein'  you're  a  stranger 
amongst  us." 

Miss  Pratt  sniifed,  as  she  bestowed  her 
parcel  in  the  netted  bag  she  carried. 
Then  she  bowed  genteelly  to  Mr.  Trim- 
mer. 

"  I  was  going  to  stop  at  your  house 
this  noon  to  ask  if  you  couldn't  make  it 
convenient  to  pay  your  pew-rent,"  said 
that  gentleman,  motioning  his  clerk  to  re- 
tire. 

"My  pew-rent?"  cried  Miss  Pratt. 
"  Don't  I  set  in  the  singers'  seat,  I'd  like 
to  know?  An'  ma  ain't  been  t'  church  for 
more'n  a  year." 

"  If  you  don't  want  the  seat  any  longer, 
give  it  up,"  advised  Mr.  Trimmer.     "  But 
we've  got  to  raise  some  money,  and  you're 
[133] 


99 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

on    our    books    for    twenty-five    dollars. 

"  Well,  when  we  get  our  new  pastor, 
I'll  speak  t'  ma  about  it,"  purred  Miss 
Electa.  "  But  we'll  be  candidatin'  fer  a 
spell,  I  s'pose." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Mr. 
Trimmer,  with  considerable  acerbity. 

Miss  Pratt  displayed  some  excitement. 

"  It  come  t'  me  straight  's  a  string  — 
Mis'  Deaconess  Buckthorn  told  Abby 
Whiton  that  Mis'  Scrimger  told  her  that 
the  Deacon  said  — " 

"  The  deacon  was  in  here  not  ten  min- 
utes ago." 

"  Didn't  he  say  we  was  goin'  t'  have  a 
new  pastor?  " 

"  Not  to  me ;  no,  ma'am." 

"  An'  didn't  you  tell  your  wife  — " 

Mr.  Trimmer  suddenly  divested  himself 
of  his  churchly  manner  for  one  thor- 
oughly domestic. 

"  Oh,  drat  the  women !  "  was  what  he 
muttered  under  his  breath. 
[134] 


Miss  Philura's   IV ed ding  Gown 

And  all  this  time  Miss  Philura  was 
wondering  whether  biscuit  and  cold  boiled 
eggs  cut  into  rounds  and  peach  preserves 
with  jellj-roll  would  satisfy  the  appetite 
of  the  young  gentleman  who  was  going  to 
drink  tea  with  her  that  evening.  He 
looked  very  hearty,  she  told  herself,  with 
certain  misgivings. 

But  she  had  been  reckless  in  her  use  of 
the  chicken  the  butter-woman  had  left  on 
the  occasion  of  her  last  visit.  Genevieve 
Parsons  had  been  helping  make  the  black 
and  purple  brocade,  and  Miss  Philura 
had  set  what  she  privately  considered  a 
lavish  repast  before  the  young  person 
each  dsij. 

Miss  Parsons  might  be  crossed  in  love, 
but  she  brought  a  healthy  young  appetite 
to  her  meals,  She  had  not  said  anything 
about  her  sorrow  to  Miss  Philura,  al- 
though that  lady  was  eagerly  sympa- 
thetic. 

The  girl  sat  by  the  window  putting  the 
[133] 


Miss  Philura's   Weddmg  Gown 

final  touches  on  the  brocade  waist  when 
Miss  Philura  hurried  in,  quite  out  of 
breath. 

"  I  was  never  so  surprised !  "  she  de- 
clared. 

The  girl  by  the  window  fixed  her  brown 
eyes  on  the  agitated  face.  Her  sorrow 
had  quite  evidently  got  the  better  of  her 
during  Miss  Philura's  absence,  for  her 
eye-lids  were  pink  and  a  stray  drop 
twinkled  on  the  long  curling  lashes. 

"  You  poor  darling,"  cried  Miss  Phi- 
lura, "  I  feel  almost  wicked  to  be  so 
happy,  when  you  —  But  you  know,  dear, 
he  is  perfectly  safe  in  the  Encircling 
Good,  and  your  own  must  come  to  you. 
Oh,  and  I  hope  you  won't  mind  my  say- 
ing it;  but  it  slipped  out  before  I 
thought." 

The  girl  gazed  almost  defiantly  at  her 
would-be  comforter. 

"  I  see  Cousin  Malvina  must  have  talked 
to  you  about  my  affairs,"  she  said  stiffly. 
[136] 


Mdss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

"  Please  don't  be  angry,  my  dear,'* 
begged  Miss  Philura.  "  I  oughtn't  to 
have  mentioned  it ;  but  seeing  my  cousin 
so  unexpectedly  —  though  perhaps  I 
shouldn't  call  him  that.  His  mother  was 
related  to  my  mother  —  first  cousin,  once 
removed,  I  think  it  was.  But  Cousin 
Caroline  has  always  been  kindness  itself. 
And  you  don't  mind  my  knowing  just  a 
little  bit,  do  you,  dear?" 

The  girl  made  no  reply  to  this  ap- 
peal; her  slim  shoulders  lifted  slightly 
as  she  searched  in  a  small  tin  box  on 
the  window-sill  for  a  hook  of  the  right 
sort. 

"  In  the  Encircling  Good  there  is  a  lav- 
ish abundance  of  happiness  for  you,"  said 
Miss  Philura  softly. 

There  was  a  pink  spot  on  either  thin 
cheek.  Her  blue  eyes  shone  bright  as 
stars. 

"  I  had  to  tell  you,"  she  went  on. 
"  It  wouldn't  be  generous  to  keep  it  to 
[137] 


Mm  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

myself.  Everything  will  come  right,  if 
you  will  only  — " 

The  girl  faced  about  in  her  chair. 

"  I  don't  know  what  Cousin  Malvina 
Bennett  told  you,"  she  said  coldly.  "  I 
was  engaged  to  be  married  and  —  his 
mother  —  I  —  I  wasn't  good  enough. 
She  made  it  perfectly  plain.  I  saw  that 
it  was  true.  I  wasn't  —  suitable.  So 
it's  all  over.  He  went  to  London,  or  Ger- 
many —  I  don't  know  where  exactly.  He 
never  wrote  to  me  after  —  after  I  ex- 
plained —  We  said  good-bye,  and  he 
went  away." 

The  young  voice  trembled  slightly. 

"  I've  told  you  this  because  I  —  I  can't 
bear  to  have  people  sorry  for  me.  So  — 
please  —  don't." 

"  I  know  —  I  know,  my  dear.  I  want 
to  be  glad  for  you." 

Miss  Philura  stooped  and  dropped  a 
butterfly  kiss  on  top  of  the  blond  head. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  for  you  —  I  am  glad 
[138] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Go-xn 

—  this     minute.     Everything    will     come 
right.     You'll  see  !  " 

"How   could  it.?"  murmured  the  girl. 
"  You  don't  know  her.'' 

It   lacked    exactly    ten   minutes    of    six 
o'clock  when  Miss  Philura's  bell  jangled, 
and  Miss  Philura  herself,  quite  pink  and 
happy   after   a   reassuring  glance   at  the 
biscuits  browning  propitiously  in  the  oven, 
opened  the  door  to  admit  Mr.  Trimmer's 
smart    clerk,    looking    smarter   than    ever 
in   clothes  which  his   hostess  was  totally 
unable    to    appreciate,   but   which   roused 
her  to  vague  wishes  concerning  Mr.  Petti- 
bone's  ministerial  wardrobe. 

The  tea-table  was  already  spread  in 
cozy  proximity  to  the  steady  fires  of  the 
scarlet  geraniums,  which  had  flowered 
with  surprising  earliness  this  fall,  and  al- 
most immediately  the  two  sat  down. 

Upon  second  thoughts,  which  are  often 
good  and  worthy.  Miss  Philura  had  added 
to  her  menu  baked  potatoes   and  a  dish 
[139] 


Mm  Fhilura^s  Wedding  Gown 

of  creamed  cod-fish — a  delectable  plat, 
when  properly  prepared.  The  young  man 
was  hungry,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of 
that.  Miss  Philura  beamed  with  delight 
when  he  accepted  his  fifth  biscuit. 

"  Now,  Gregory,"  she  said,  with  some- 
thing of  the  authority  of  the  successful 
hostess,  "  I  want  you  to  tell  me  how  it 
happens  that  you  are  in  Innisfield,  work- 
ing for  George  Trimmer.     I  do  hope  • — " 

She  coughed  delicately  behind  her 
fringed  napkin. 

"  I  hope  the  family  has  not  met  with 
reverses." 

This,  she  felt  sure,  was  the  proper 
term  to  apply  to  the  losses  of  very  rich 
people. 

"  No,"  he  said,  quite  seriously; 
"  father  and  mother  are  quite  well,  and 
the}^  haven't  lost  any  of  their  confounded 
money.  I  wish  they  had.  Yes,  by 
George,  I  do.  I  wish  they'd  lose  every 
cent  of  it." 

[140] 


Miss  Philura^s  Wedding  Gown 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  deprecated  Miss  Phl- 
lura,  in  pained  surprise. 

"  I've  —  er  —  met  with  reverses, 
though,"  pursued  the  young  man,  '*  that's 
why  I've  cut  it  out." 

Miss  Philura  looked  inquiringly. 

"  You've  cut  —  ?  " 

He  nodded. 

"  The  whole  outfit.  I'm  my  own  man 
now ;  working  for  my  living.  Getting 
eight  dollars  a  week,  and  living  on  five. 
What  do  you  think  of  that.?  " 

She  didn't  know  exactly  what  to  think, 
in  view  of  his  appetite.  He  had  absent- 
mindedly  reached  for  his  sixth  biscuit  and 
was  buttering  it  thickly. 

"  I  haven't  had  a  decent  meal  before, 
since  I  came  to  Innisfield ;  and  you  cer- 
tainly can  cook,  Cousin  Philura.  That 
white  stuff,  now.  I'd  like  to  see  mother's 
chef  up  against  that.  May  I  have  some 
more;  and  another  potato .^^  " 

Miss  Philura  beamed. 

[1*1] 


?9 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

"  It's    only    creamed    cod-fish,    Greg 
she  told  him. 

"  It's  bully  stuff.     I'm  going  to  have 
it  every  day  at  my  house  —  if  I  ever  get 


one." 


He  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  which  was  not 
all  content. 

"  And  your  dear  mother  —  what  does 
she  think  of  —  of  your  — " 

"  Mother  supposes  me  to  be  spending 
money  in  London,  Paris,  Baden  —  she 
thinks  I'm  in  Europe.  She  saw  me  on 
board  the  Calonia  four  weeks  ago.  I  had 
a  first-class  cabin,  several  thousand  dol- 
lars and,  incidentally,  the  maternal  bless- 
ing." 

He  was  staring  down  at  his  plate. 

"Won't  you  have  some  cake?"  urged 
Miss  Philura.  "  It  isn't  quite  as  nice  as 
I  could  wish,  but  — " 

He  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  table  and 
stared  across  at  her. 

"  Do  you  think  one  person  —  a  fellow's 
[142] 


Miss  FJulura's   JVeddi/ig  Gcjsfi 

mother,  say  —  has  a  right  to  arrange  his 
life  for  him,  according  to  her  own  ideas, 
like  —  er  —  bric-a-brac  on  a  table?  " 

His  boyish  good  looks  had  hardened 
into  something  strangely  stern.  For  a 
fleeting  instant  Miss  Philura  thought  he 
resembled  the  majestic  person  who  had 
constituted  herself  the  undisputed  arbiter 
of  so  many  destinies. 

"  If  you  do,"  he  went  on,  "  I  don't.  I 
suppose  I'll  forgive  my  mother  sometime. 
I  shall  if  — *' 

He  paused  to  scowl  darkly. 

"  The  preserves,"  twittered  Miss  Phi- 
lura gently,  "  aren't  quite  as  clear  as 
usual  this  year  :  but  I  hope  —  you'll  — " 

"  I  was  engaged  to  the  dearest,  sweet- 
est, most  innocent  little  girl  on  God's 
earth,"  he  went  on.  "  She  was  —  Lord  1 
I  can't  talk  about  it.  But  she  —  You 
see  I  graduated  in  June,  and  I  had  my 
twenty-first  birthday  in  April.  I'm  no 
baby,  and  we'd  planned  to  be  married  and 
[US] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

go  abroad  together.  Mother  had  always 
said  I  should  go  as  soon  as  I'd  got  my  de- 
gree. I  got  it,  and  it  was  cum  laude,  by 
George.  I  worked  like  a  dog.  But 
when  I  told  her — " 

"You  mean  Cousin  Caroline?"' 

"  Yes,  when  I  told  mother  about  it  and 
expected  —  The  Lord  knows  what  I 
ought  to  have  expected.  She's  as  hard 
as  —  as  this  table." 

And  he  smote  the  mahogany  a  blow  that 
set  Miss  Philura's  ancestral  tea-cups  danc- 
ing. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  cousin !  Hope  I 
haven't  broken  anything.  But  I  can't 
think  of  it  without  getting  swearing 
mad ! " 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,  my  dear,"  murmured 
Miss  Philura.     "  Your  dear  mother  —  " 

"  She  used  to  wash  my  mouth  out  with 
kitchen  soap  for  what  she  called  profan- 
ity," he  said  moodily.  "  But  kitchen  soap 
isn't  in  it  for  what  she's  goaded  me  into, 
[144] 


Mdss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

since.  Look  here,  cousin,  I'll  tell  you 
what  she  did.  She  went  to  see  my  dearest 
girl  —  I  had  asked  her  to  do  it ;  but  I 
might  have  known  better.  She  went  to 
see  her,  and  —  and  —  it's  too  brutal  — 
she  told  my  darling  that  she  wasn't  good 
enough.  Think  of  that,  will  you?  An 
innocent,  white-souled  angel  of  a  girl,  too 
pure  and  sweet  for  any  man  to  look  at 
with  anything  but  worship.  And  my 
mother  told  her  she  must  give  me  up. 
Because  —  Oh,  rot !  It  makes  me  sick ! 
Genevieve  sewed  for  a  living,  and  I  — " 

"  Genevieve.?  "  repeated  Miss  Philura. 

"That's  her  name  —  pretty,  isn't  it? 
But  it  isn't  a  patch  on  her." 

An  excited  colour  was  coming  and  going 
in  Miss  Philura's  cheeks.  What  should 
she  do?  Her  duty  to  Cousin  Caroline 
loomed  majestic  and  threatening  like  that 
lady  herself  in  irate  mood,  as  she  gazed 
across  the  table  at  the  face  of  her  young 
kinsman. 

£145] 


Miss  Philura^s  Wedding  Gown 

*'  Oh,  my  dear  Gregory,"  she  murmured 
gently.  "  How  very  —  extraordinary ! 
But  you  —  you  aren't  eating  anything." 

The  young  man  paid  no  sort  of  heed  to 
the  agitation  of  his  hostess. 

''  She's  in  this  town  somewhere,"  he 
"Went  on.  "  I  wormed  that  much  out  of 
her  mother." 

"  But  how  could  you  —  in  London,  you 
said;  or  was  it  East  Boston?  I  am  so 
surprised,  you  know,   to   think  — " 

"  I  didn't  stay  in  London,"  he  ex- 
plained. "  I  allowed  mother  to  ship  me 
off,  for  I  wanted  time  to  mull  things  over. 
I  came  back  directly,  and  went  straight 
to  see  Genevieve.  But  she  was  gone. 
And  she'd  made  her  mother  promise  not 
to  tell  where  she  was.  She's  proud,  the 
poor  darling,  and  when  my  mother  —  Oh, 
confound  it !  I  can't  talk  about  it.  But 
I  want  you  to  help  me  find  her.  I've  ran- 
sacked the  town,  and  I  can't  get  any  trace 
of  her.'^ 

[146] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

He  fixed  compelling  eyes  upon  Miss 
Philura. 

"  That's  why  I  went  to  work  for  Trim- 
mer, I  thought  she'd  be  sure  to  come  there 
to  buy  something;  and  besides,  I  wanted 
to  show  mother  and  father  I  could  earn 
my  own  living  and  hers,  too.  You  know 
everybody  around  here.  Cousin  Philura, 
and  you  must  have  seen  her.  She's  tall 
and  slender.  Her  eyes  are  brown  and  her 
hair  —  You  ought  to  see  her  hair.  Such 
a  lot  of  it  — ■  and  all  shiny  and  curling. 
I've  got  a  bit  of  it  here." 

He  produced  a  wallet,  from  out  a 
pocket  of  which  he  took  a  folded  paper. 

"  There  1 "  he  said,  lifting  a  long  strand 
of  yellow  hair  from  its  wrapping,  "  did 
you  ever  see  anything  like  that  ?  —  fine 
and  soft  and  lovely.     It's  like  her." 

"  Yes,  yes  —  indeed ;  I  am  so  —  so  — 
interested,  dear  Gregory;  and  isn't  that 
the  door-bell?  Pray  excuse  me  while  I 
answer  it." 

[147] 


M2SS  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

It  was,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Pettibone  who  craved  ad- 
mittance. Miss  Philura  heaved  a  deep 
breath  of  relief  as  she  looked  into  his 
strong,  tranquil  face. 

"  I'm  so  very  glad  you've  come,"  she 
whispered,  as  he  stooped  to  kiss  her. 
"  Really,  I  couldn't  think  —  what  to  do. 
My  cousin  is  here  —  or  perhaps  I  should 
say,  my  distant  relative.  Cousin  Caro- 
line always  speaks  of  me  in  that  way,  and 
so  of  course  — " 

Somewhat  breathlessly  she  ushered  him 
into  the  little  sitting-room,  where  her 
guest  stood  moodily  staring  at  the  coals 
in  the  base-burner. 

"  My  distant  relative,  Gregory  Van 
Duser,  Mr.  Pettibone,"  she  managed  to 
say.  Then  while  the  two  shook  hands, 
looking  squarely  into  each  other's  eyes 
after  the  fashion  of  men,  she  withdrew  to 
the  kitchen  to  gain  composure. 

"  Oh,  Morty  dear,"  she  whispered,  as 
[148] 


Miss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

she  recklessly  bestowed  upon  the  cat  the 
remainder  of  the  creamed  cod-fish,  which 
would  have  done  perfectly  well  for  her  own 
breakfast,  "  to  think  I  know  where  she  is 
this  minute,  and  it  is  in  my  power  to 
make  two  young  creatures  perfectly  happy 
and  to  foil  Cousin  Caroline  as  well.  I'm 
afraid  I  can't  help  doing  it.  And  I  am 
so  glad!  But  I  shall  ask  him,  he'll  know 
whether  I  ought  to  or  not." 

But  Providence  —  which  is  not  always 
hostile  (whatever  some  people  may  think) 
and  which,  indeed,  appears  to  interest  it- 
self particularly  and  most  benignly  in  the 
loves  of  young  and  innocent  beings  — 
asked  no  odds  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Pettibone, 
nor  yet  of  Miss  Philura. 

Gregory  Van  Duser,  very  stiff  though 
polite  toward  the  elderly  person  who  had 
interrupted  his  conversation  with  Miss 
Philura,  presently  took  his  leave,  and  went 
swinging  off  down  the  street  at  a  great 
pace, 

[149] 


Miss  Pkdlura's   Wedding  Gown 

At  the  corner,  just  beneath  the  ice- 
bound branches  of  a  great  elm,  a  shadowy 
figure  had  paused  and  was  in  the  act  of  in- 
troducing a  letter  into  the  narrow  mouth 
of  a  post-box,  when  the  arc-light  struck 
a  sparkle  of  gold  from  the  bent  head. 

Young  Gregory's  heart  leaped  to  his 
throat  —  to  his  lips. 

"  Genevieve !  "  he  cried. 


[150] 


IMiss  Malvina  Bennett  stood  rubbing 
her  chilled  fingers  over  Miss  Philura's 
cook-stove,  from  which  that  little  lady  had 
just  taken  a  pan  of  hot  water  for  her 
breakfast  things.  Miss  Bennett  wore  a 
shawl  over  her  head,  and  she  had  not 
removed  from  the  front  of  her  dress  the 
faded  pin-cushion,  fashioned  in  the  shape 
of  a  heart  and  bristling  with  pins  and 
needles. 

"  I  s'pose  you've  heard  about  Gene- 
vieve," she  began.  "  She  said  he  was 
here  takin'  supper  with  you  last  night. 
—  An'  to  think  of  his  bein'  a  relative  of 
yours !  " 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Miss  Philura.  In  her 
agitation  she  almost  dropped  the  cracked 
tea-cup,  which  she  had  used  for  fifteen 
years,  drinking  her  tea  and  coffee  luke- 
warm out  of  consideration  for  its  delicate 
[151] 


M^ss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

condition.  "But  I  —  I  didn't  tell  him. 
I  couldn't  think  what  my  duty  was  to  — 
to  Cousin  Caroline.  But  I  asked  Mr. 
Pettibone,  and  he  said — " 

"  I  was  settin'  b'  the  stove  readin'  that 
continued  story  in  the  Fashion  Monthly," 
chimed  in  Miss  Bennett,  "  An'  Genevieve, 
she'd  been  writin'  a  letter  to  her  ma. 
—  A  better  girl  than  Genevieve  Parsons 
never  lived  if  I  do  say  it,  bein'  sister-in- 
law  to  her  ma's  own  sister. 

"  '  Cousin  Malvina,'  she  says,  '  I'll  just 
run  out  an'  slip  this  letter  in  the  box. 
I'll  be  back  in  a  minute.' 

" '  Put  on  your  coat,'  I  sez ;  *  it's 
growin'  cold.'  Then  I  forgot  all  about 
her,  havin'  got  to  that  pint  in  the  story 
where  Lionel  proposes  to  Lady  Clara ;  an' 
she  says  she's  always  loved  him,  from  a 
child.  Well,  as  I  say,  I'd  completely  for- 
gotten Genevieve's  goin'  out  t'  the  post- 
box,  when  all  of  a  sudden  the  clock  struck 
nine. 

[152] 


Miss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

"  '  Land ! '  I  sez,  '  whatever's  got  Gene- 
vieve ?  ' 

"  Up  I  jumps  an'  puts  on  my  shawl  an' 
runs  out  t'  the  letter-box.  The'  wa'  n't 
a  soul  in  sight.  My !  but  I  was  scart. 
Thinks  s'  I,  she's  been  broodin'  over  her 
troubles  so  long  she's  out  of  her  mind, 
mebbe.  I  started  for  your  house,  hard 
's  I  could  go,  leavin'  m'  front  door  wide 
open,  o'  course  the  wind  blew  in  an'  broke 
the  lamp-chimbly.  I  found  the  glass  on 
the  floor  this  mornin'.  Lucky  it  didn't 
set  the  house  afire. —  Then  I  see  Gene- 
vieve. She  was  comin'  down  the  street, 
with  a  man. 

"  Goodness  !  Wasn't  I  flabbergasted. 
They  didn't  see  me;  but  just  dawdled 
along  's  if  it  was  June.  They  went  right 
by  me ;  bein'  s'  took  up  with  each  other 
they  didn't  see  me  no  more'n  's  if  I  was 
a  'lectric-light  pole.  When  they  got  t' 
the  house  they  stopped  inside  th'  gate,  an' 
.right  in  the  shadder  of  the  big  lilac  bush 
[153] 


Mdss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

he  kissed  her.     I  heerd  it.     Then  I  took 
a-holt. 

"'Genevieve!'  I  sez;  just  hke  that  I 
sez  it. 

"  She  give  a  little  scream. 

" '  Oh,  Cousin  Malvina,'  she  sez,  '  I 
thought  you  were  — ' 

"  '  Yes,'  I  sez ;  '  you  thought  I  was  safe 
in  the  house,  b'  th'  base-burner,  readin' 
a  love-story.  But  I  ain't,'  I  sez.  '  I'm 
right  on  the  job  o'  lookin'  after  you,'  I 
sez ;  '  same  's  I  told  your  ma  I  would.' 

"  Then  lie  spoke  up. 

"  '  I'm  Gregory  Van  Duser,"  he  sez, 
'  an'  Genevieve  is  going  to  marry  me  right 
away.' 

"  '  Oh,  Greg ! '  she  sez. 

"  '  Yes,  Genevieve,'  he  sez.  '  You've 
promised,  you  know.'  " 

Miss  Bennett  paused  for  breath. 

"  Dear,  dear !  "  murmured  Miss  Philura. 

"  Ain't  you  glad  ?  "  demanded  Malvina 
Ben-^tt.   ^  You'd  better  b'lieve  I  be.   You 
[154] 


Miss  Fhilura's  Wedditig  Gown 

wouldn't  know  Genevieve  this  mornin'. 
When  I  come  up  t'  the  sewin'-room  after 
doin'  up  the  breakfas'  dishes,  there  she 
set,  's  pretty  as  a  pink,  singin'  kind  of 
soft  t'  herself.  An'  what  d'  you  think  she 
was  doin'  ?  " 

Miss  Bennett  paused  dramatically. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  murmured 
Miss  Philura,  wrinkling  her  forehead. 

She  couldn't  help  thinking  of  Cousin 
Caroline  Van  Duser ;  and  feeling  like  a 
guilty  conspirator,  as  she  pictured  to  her- 
self that  majestic  lady's  wrath  and  con- 
sternation at  the  swift  undoing  of  all  her 
carefully  laid  plans. 

"  You  couldn't  guess  in  a  hundred  years 
—  not  ef  you  was  t'  die  fer  it." 

"  She  wasn't  —  crying?  "  hazarded 
Miss  Philura, — "with  joy,  I  mean,"  she 
amended  quickly. 

"  Cryin'?  —  cryin',"  sniffed  Miss  Ben- 
nett. "  You  ain't  got  much  'magination, 
Philura.  No;  she  wa'  n't  cryin'.  She 
[155] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

was  a-sewln'  purple  buttons  all  down  the 
back  of  Mis'  Buckthorn's  red  waist !  " 

"Really?"  interrogated  Miss  Philura, 
weakly  endeavouring  to  banish  the  stern 
visage  of  Mrs.  J.  Mortimer  Van  Duser 
from  her  mind. 

"  An'  she'd  sewed  'em  on  good  an'  firm, 
too,"  continued  Miss  Bennett,  y/ith  a 
cackle  of  laughter.  "  I'm  goin'  t'  send 
her  over  here  t'  finish  your  black  an'  pur- 
ple this  afternoon.  I  can't  bother  with 
her.  An',  say,  Philura,  that  reminds  me, 
I'll  take  them  white  goods  right  home  with 
me  now  an'  get  the  dress  cut  out  an'  ready 
t'  fit.     That's  really  what  I  come  for." 

"  The  white  goods,"  repeated  Miss 
Philura  in  a  low  voice.     "  You  mean  — " 

"  I  mean  your  weddin'-dress.  I'd 
ought  t'  have  started  on  it  b'fore;  but  I 
wanted  t'  git  the  shop  kind  o'  cleaned  up 
an'  th'  work  out  th'  house,  b'fore  I  begun 
on  yours." 

"  But  I  —  the  material — ^''' 
[156] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

Miss  Philura's  voice  died  into  silence. 
She  polished  the  knife  she  was  holding 
with  tremulous  fingers. 

"  Ain't  you  got  the  goods  yit?  "  almost 
screamed  Miss  Bennett,  "  an'  th'  weddin' 
only  a  week  off,  come  Thursday.  Why, 
Philura  Rice !  " 

"  It  —  it  —  I  believe  it  is  on  the  way," 
faltered  Miss  Philura. 

Then  she  straightened  her  small  figure 
confidently. 

"  It  is  on  the  way,"  she  repeated  firmly. 
"  It  will  be  here  soon." 

"  I  sh'd  hope  so,  if  I'm  a-goin'  t'  make 
it,"  said  Miss  Bennett.  "  I  don't  want  t' 
throw  it  together.  An'  I'd  planned  t' 
trim  it  with  some  o'  that  new  kind  o'  trim- 
min'  made  out  o'  th'  goods.  It's  pleated 
on  both  :.ides,  the  pleats  turned  opposite 
ways.  It's  awful  stylish ;  but  it  takes  time 
t'  make  it." 

"  It  must  be  —  pretty." 
Miss  Philura  spoke  with  a  sweet  aloof- 
[157] 


Miss  Philura^s   IVedding  Gown 

ness  which  drew  Miss  Bennett's  faded  eyes 
to  her  face. 

"  Well,  I  must  say,"  she  syllabled, 
"  you  don't  seem  t'  worry  none  'bout  your 
goods  bein'  d'layed.  Some  folks  'd  be 
wild,  an'  fly  in'  'round  like  a  hen  with  her 
head  cut  off." 

Miss  Philura  smiled  a  sweet  faint  smile, 
which  somehow  made  Miss  Bennett  think 
of  a  pictured  angel  in  her  copy  of  Pil- 
grim's Progress. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  worried,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  sure  —  sure  it  will  come  in  time." 


[158] 


XI 

Mrs.  J.  Mortimer  Van  Duser  sat  before 
the  fire  in  her  dressing-room,  feeling  quite 
at    ease   in   a    carefully   relaxed   position. 
Even  her  jewelled  hands  lay  supinely  amid 
the    silken    folds    of    her    negligee.     Mrs. 
Van  Duser  was  resting  after  a  strenuous 
afternoon  at  the  Ontological  Club,  during 
the   course  of  which  she  had  presented  a 
pregnant   paper    on   "Parental   Influence 
as   related  to   the  Law   of   Karma."     An 
earnest  discussion  had  followed  the  read- 
ing of  the  paper,  with  Mrs.  Van  Duser  as 
its    pivotal   point,    so    to    speak, —  or,   to 
quote  Dr.  Aurilla  Robinson-Cobb's  words, 
"  its  radio-active  centre." 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  had  found  it  all  ex- 
ceedingly uplifting,  yet  even  her  robust, 
w^ell-nourished  body  demanded  its  dues  of 
rest  and  relaxation,  and  Mrs.  Van  Duser 
was  not  one  to  push  ontological  theories 
^  [159] 


Miss  Fhilurds   Wedding  Gown 

to  the  point  of  what  she  privately  consid- 
ered folly.  There  were  many  worthy  per- 
sons interested  in  the  mental  cult,  of 
which  Mrs.  Van  Duser  had  become  a  shin- 
ing exponent,  who  had  no  social  responsi- 
bilities and  who  were  not  burdened  with 
an  excess  of  this  world's  goods.  Such  in- 
dividuals could  scarcely  realise  the  weight 
of  duties  which  devolved  upon  Mrs  Van 
Duser,  in  her  double  role  of  radio-active 
centre  of  the  Ontological  Club  and  undis- 
puted leader  of  that  august  inner  circle 
of  society  which  constituted  the  veritable 
Hub  (written  of  course  with  a  capital  let- 
ter) of  that  mighty  wheel  of  progress 
called  Boston. 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  made  it  a  point  to  re- 
lax—  she  justly  objected  to  the  meta- 
physically false  term  "  devitalise  "  —  par- 
ticularly when  dining  out,  the  dinner  to  be 
followed  by  an  equally  important  func- 
tion in  the  shape  of  a  great  reception  at 
the  home  of  a  woman  who  attempted  (but 
[160] 


Miss  Fhilurds   Wedding  Gown 

without  success)  to  rival  Mrs.  Van  Duser 
both  socially  and  ontologicallj. 

As  everyone  knows  one  must  think  of 
nothing  at  all  when  in  a  condition  of  re- 
laxation. And  if  attainable  there  is  noth- 
ing more  potent  than  this  quiescent  state 
to  remove  wrinkles  and  other  signs  of  ad- 
vancing years  —  both  a  false  concept  of 
the  carnal  mind  —  or  to  restore  vigour  and 
brilliancy  to  the  mental  powers.  Mrs. 
Van  Duser  wished  particularly  to  look  and 
feel  at  her  best  on  this  evening,  for  which 
Fifine,  her  maid,  was  already  laying  out 
the  newest  and  most  successful  of  her 
Popham  Paris  creations. 

But  her  mind  with  annoying  persistence 
kept  harking  back  to  the  discussion  of  the 
afternoon.  And  with  the  variously  con- 
flicting views  of  the  Law  of  Karma  as  re- 
lated to  the  subject  of  Parental  Responsi- 
bility came  the  thought  of  her  own  and 
only  son,  Gregory.  His  name  was  ]Milton 
Gregory  Van  Duser,  after  two  of  his 
[161] 


Mdss  Phdlura's  Wedding  Gown 

great-grandfathers  —  Mrs.  Van  Duser 
was  not  one  to  grow  lax  in  the  matter  of 
great-grandfathers. 

Milton  Gregory  ha4  shown  alarming 
tendencies  of  late.  A  distressing  affair 
with  Miss  Popham's  seamstress.  But 
right  at  the  crucial  point  in  the  young 
man's  career  parental  influence  had  come 
into  play. 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  breathed  deep  content- 
ment as  she  rapidly  reviewed  her  own  part 
in  the  invincible  workings  of  Karma. 
The  girl  had  been  amenable  to  the  higher 
voice  of  reason ;  there  had  been  no  foolish 
tears,  no  recriminations,  except,  of  course, 
on  the  part  of  that  very  common  person, 
her  mother. 

On  her  own  plane  of  life,  Genevieve  Par- 
sons had  acquitted  herself  with  credit. 
She  had  actually  approved  the  girl's  self- 
control,  and  her  spirit,  too ;  it  had  been 
admirable.  And  she  had  saved  her  son 
from  a  frightful  mesalliance  by  the 
[162] 


Mdss  Pkilura's   Wedding  Gown 

promptness  and  unswerving  firmness  with 
which  she  had  performed  her  own  duty  in 
the  matter. 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  had  not  once  alluded 
to  her  own  recent  experience  with  Cosmic 
Law,  at  the  Club  that  afternoon.  Such  a 
course  would  have  been  indelicate ;  but 
the  consciousness  of  her  success  had  lent 
a  serene  and  compelling  majesty  to  her 
mien  and  utterances  as  she  dwelt  upon 
the  basic  relations  of  motherhood  to 
Karma. 

Dear  Gregory  was  enjoying  himself 
with  well-bred  persons  of  his  own  class  in 
a  country  house  in  Kent.  Mrs.  Van  Du- 
ser's  social  circle  was  wide,  its  circumfer- 
ence even  including  a  few  titles  on  the 
other  side  of  the  water. 

She  thought  now  with  a  smile  of  ma- 
ternal pride  of  her  darling  Gregory's  in- 
genuous good  looks,  of  his  faultless  ward- 
robe, of  his  prospective  millions.  All  of 
which  she  knew  would  be  duly  appreciated 
[163] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

by  the  noble  but  impoverished  dowager 
countess  of  Meadhurst.  Why  should  she 
not  —  possibly  within  a  few  months  —  be 
introducing  to  select  Boston  circles,  "  my 
daughter,  Lady  Clara  Van  Duser." 

She  could  almost  see  herself  and  the 
tall,  plain  (but  very  aristocratic)  English 
girl,  who  had  so  far  remained  unplucked 
upon  the  ancestral  tree.  Dear  Gregory 
must  seize  the  brilliant  opportunity  which 
lay  within  his  easy  reach. 

She  found  herself  quite  rigid  and  tense 
in  her  chair  with  the  mental  effort  of 
transmitting  her  ideas  telepathically  to 
dear  Gregory.  Then  Fifine  appeared  at 
her  elbow  bearing  a  tray  with  the  cup  of 
bouillon  which  her  mistress  always  par- 
took of  just  before  dressing. 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  roused  herself  to  take 
the  cup  from  the  maid's  hand. 

"  Has  Mr.  Van  Duser  come  in  yet,  Fi- 
fine?" she  asked.  "And  are  there  any 
letters?" 

[164] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Govsn 

"  Oui,  madame.  Mr.  Van  Duser  is  in 
his  dressing-room,  madame,"  replied  the 
girh  "  I  s'all  ask  Parkyns  for  ze  let- 
taires." 

Mrs.  Van  Duser   seldom  asked  for  her 
mail  before  dressing  for  dinner.     It  was 
her  habit  to  examine  it  by  the  cold  light 
of  morning,  in  an   apartment  devoted  to 
correspondence  and  the  higher  pursuit  of 
literature    as    embodied    in    various    club 
papers  on  a  wide  variety  of  themes.     But 
to-night  she  wanted  to  hear  from  her  son. 
"Darling  Greg!"  she  apostrophised  him 
mentally.     Had  he  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Lady   Clara   Hurcomb?     Was   Karma 
going    to    be    kind?      She    willed    that    it 
should  be. 

But  there  was  no  letter  from  dear  Greg- 
ory. Perhaps  it  was  too  soon  to  expect 
one,  after  his  cablegram  announcing  a 
safe  arrival  in  Liverpool. 

She  glanced  carelessly  through  the  heap 
of     envelopes,     bills,     invitations,     letters 
[165] 


Mdss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

from  needy  persons  —  and  here  was  one 
from  Innisfield. 

The  rather  unformed  and  timid  hand 
announced  it  unopened  as  coming  from 
Philura  Rice.  Mrs.  Van  Duser  laid  it 
upon  the  pile  of  unopened  envelopes,  rel- 
egated to  her  later  consideration. 
Surely  Philura  Rice  could  have  no  ade- 
quate reason  for  further  addressing  so 
distant  a  relative  as  Mrs.  Van  Duser. 
"A  letter,"  as  that  majestic  person  oc- 
casionally informed  certain  presuming 
(and  of  course  needy)  persons  of  her  ac- 
quaintance —  "a  letter,  which  is  neither 
necessary  nor  agreeable,  is,  in  effect,  an 
unwarrantable  intrusion ;  not  less  so,  in- 
deed, than  the  rude  pushing  in  of  an  unin- 
vited guest." 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  had  not  invited  corre- 
spondence on  the  part  of  Philura  Rice, 
beyond  those  suitable  acknowledgments 
of  her  bounty  which  reached  her  from 
time  to  time,  as  occasion  required.  She 
[166] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

continued  to  eye  Miss  Philura's  modest 
letter  with  a  stern  and  rebuking  gaze. 

Philura  deserved  and  should  listen  to 
the  aphorism  concerning  uninvited  corre- 
spondence at  the  earliest  opportunity. 
For  the  present  her  letter  should  remain 
(as  it  deserved)  unread  and  unnoticed. 
And  yet  — 

Do  insensate  letters  emanate  their  in- 
formation, like  Roentgen  rays,  piercing 
the  futile  defences  of  enfolding  paper  and 
sealed  envelopes?  What  was  there  about 
that  small  oblong  envelope  of  yellowish 
white  paper,  addressed  in  faded  ink,  in  a 
timid,  unformed  hand,  which  again  and 
yet  again  drew  the  reluctant  gaze  of  the 
great  lad}',  and  which  finally  impelled 
those  jewelled  fingers  to  open  it? 

In  point  of  fact  Mrs.  J.  Mortimer  Van 
Duser,  having  finished  her  bouillon, 
handed  the  cup  to  her  maid,  reached  for 
Miss  Philura's  letter. 

"Dear  Cousin  Caroline:  (she  read) 
[167] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

Yon  may  imagine  my  surprise  and  pleas- 
ure at  seeing  dear  Cousin  Gregory  — " 

"  What !  "  murmured  Mrs.  Van  Duser, 
arching  her  brows  and  majestically  re- 
placing her  eye  glasses.  "  The  woman 
must  have  lost  her  mind !  " 

"  He  is  looking  very  well,  and  I  had  the 
great  honour  and  pleasure  of  entertaining 
him  at  tea  on  Wednesday." 

"  Absurd !  "  commented  dear  Gregory's 
mother.  Had  she  not  received  a  cable- 
gram scarcely  two  weeks  ago  announcing 
his  safe  arrival  in  Liverpool?  How  then 
could  he  be  taking  tea  with  Philura  Rice 
in  Innisfield? 

"  Of  course  Cousin  Gregory  has  writ- 
ten you  of  his  intended  marriage,  which  he 
tells  me  — " 

Some  sort  of  inarticulate  sound  burst 
from  Mrs.  Van  Duser's  lips  at  this  point. 
She  read  the  remaining  words  of  the  let- 
ter with  a  single  comprehensive  glance. 

Then  she  rose  to  her  feet,  her  wonted 
[168] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

majesty  of  deportment  giving  place  to 
haste  and  agitation. 

"Fifine!"  she  called  sharply.  "My 
travelling  dress,  and  motoring  wraps,  and 
tell  Parkyns  to  order  the  touring  car  at 
once !  " 

"  Oui,   madame ;   already  the   limousine 

waits." 

"  I  said  the  touring  car.  It  makes 
better  time.  Quickly,  girl,  my  high  laced 
shoes!  —  That  artful,  designing  crea- 
ture—  After  all  my  pains,  she  must 
have  — " 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  was  herself  pulling 
open  bureau  drawers,  and  placing  various 
toilet  articles  in  a  small  travelling  bag,  as 
the  latter  unintelhgible  words  fell  from  her 
lips. 

Five  minutes  later  she  was  being  hooked 
into  a  broadcloth  gown  of  severe  and  un- 
compromising lines,  when  the  door  opened 
and  Mr.  J.  ^Mortimer  Van  Duser  stood 
upon  the  threshold.  He  was  in  full  even- 
[169] 


M2SS  Philura^s  Wedding  Gown 

ing  dress,  and  he  held  an  open  letter  in 
his  hands.  For  an  instant  he  gazed  in 
astonished  silence  at  his  august  consort, 
who  appeared  to  have  suddenly  lost  the 
dignity  and  poise  for  which  she  was  so 
justly  celebrated. 

"  My  dear  Caroline,"  he  said,  du- 
biously, "  may  I  inquire  — " 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  faced  him,  twitching 
herself  out  of  the  hands  of  the  curious 
maid. 

"You  may  go,  Fifine.  Pack  some 
sandwiches  and  a  thermos  bottle  of  hot 
coffee.     I  shall  not  wait  to  dine." 

"  But  my  dear,"  expostulated  Mr.  Van 
Duser,  coming  into  the  room  and  closing 
the  door  behind  him.  "What  does  this 
mean.?     Surely,  you — " 

"  John  1 "  cried  Mrs.  Van  Duser,  with 
an  alarming  wildness  in  her  eyes,  from 
which  the  gold-rimmed  glasses  had  fallen, 
like  scales,  as  it  were.  "  John,  I  have 
just  had  a  letter  from  Philura  Rice,  and 
[170] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

she  says  Gregory  is  in  Innisfield,  and  that 
he  is  going  to  be  married  to  that 
—  seamstress.      But  I  shall  save  him  yet." 

"  Er  —  would  3^ou  mind  sitting  down 
—  ah  —  quietly  ?     And  ■ — " 

"  Sitting  down  —  quietly,  did  you  say.? 
John,  I  wonder  at  you !  I  shall  go  to  In- 
nisfield and  bring  my  poor  boy  home  with 
me.     Nothing  shall  prevent  me." 

"  But,  my  dear,  I  must  insist." 

When  John  Van  Duser  spoke  in  that 
tone,  which  it  must  be  owned  had  been 
seldom  of  late,  to  his  wife,  at  least,  he  was 
sure  to  be  obeyed. 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  paused  in  the  act  of 
tying  a  motoring  bonnet  under  her  mas- 
sive chin  and  gazed  at  her  husband.  Her 
eye  caught  sight  of  the  familiar  hand- 
writing on  the  sheet  which  he  was  deliber- 
ately unfolding. 

"Has  he  —  has  Gregory  written.''" 
she  asked. 

"  If  you  will  take  that  thing  off  your 
[171] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

head  and  sit  down  quietly  I  will  read  what 
he  sa^^s,"  was  Mr.  Van  Duser's  reply. 

Mrs.  Van  Dnser  sat  down  upon  the  ex- 
treme verge  of  a  chair  in  a  rigid  and  un- 
compromising attitude.  She  did  not  re- 
move the  motor-bonnet. 

"You  are  not,"  said  Mr.  Van  Duser, 
"  going  to  Innisfield  to-night." 

There  was  nothing  controversial  in  his 
tone,  but  an  immense  though  calm  convic- 
tion. 

"Is  it  too  late,  John?" 

"  Too  late  ?  Yes,  my  dear ;  to  my  way 
of  thinking  it's  gone  beyond  you." 

"Are  they  married  already?  Philura 
said —  She  actually  had  the  imperti- 
nence to  ask  us  to  stop  with  her,  if  we  came 
—  as  she  hoped  we  would  —  to  Greg's 
wedding  to  that  artful,  designing  — " 

"  Be  careful,  my  dear ;  you're  talking 
about  your  future  daughter-in-law,"  Mr. 
Van  Duser  warned  her. 

He  was  actually  smiling. 

ri72] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

"John,  how  can  you?"  demanded  his 
wife.  "  If  it  is  not  too  hite  I  can  and 
will  prevent  — " 

"  Sit  down,  Carrie ;  sit  down.  Now, 
let  me  read  what  the  boy  has  to  say  for 
himself." 

And  without  further  preamble  he  be- 
gan to  read,  but  unluckily  in  a  tone  so 
low  that  Fifine,  flattening  her  small  pink 
ear  against  the  keyhole  could  scarcely 
hear  a  word. 

"  Mon  dieu !  "  slie  cried,  when  describ- 
ing the  scene  below  stairs  to  a  circle  of 
admiring  auditors.  "  Nevaire  have  I  seen 
ze  madame  like  zat.  She  sit  down  when 
he  say,  '  Sit  down  ' ;  she  keep  quiet  when 
he  tell  her  '  Keep  quiet.'  She  listen  to 
heem  wizout  words.  Mon  dieu!  It  is 
one  miracle." 

In  his  carefully  modulated  voice  John 
Van  Duser  was  reading  his  son's  letter  to 
the  mother  of  his  son.     Gregory  had  writ- 
ten on  this  wise,  in   a  dashing  hand  and 
[173] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

with  great  extravagance  in  the  use  of  ink 
which  here  and  there  exploded  in  spatters 
and  blots. 

"  Dear  Dad,  (read  John  Van  Duser) 
I  am  writing  to  you  instead  of  to  mother 
because  I  believe  you'll  understand  me  bet- 
ter than  she  will.  At  any  rate,  I  can 
and  will  speak  to  you  as  man  to  man. 

"  When  mother  shipped  me  off  to  Eu- 
rope I  suppose  she  thought  of  me  as  a 
small  boy,  caught  stealing  jam  in  her  pre- 
serve closet.  All  she  had  to  do  was  to 
put  me  to  bed  w^ithout  supper  and  lock 
the  closet  door. 

"  I  let  her  think  so,  for  I  wanted  time 
to  cool  off  and  to  let  my  darling  girl  get 
over  the  hurts  mother  had  inflicted  upon 
her.  —  She.  at  least,  had  no  idea  that 
she  was  stealing  anybody's  preserves. — 
So  I  went  to  Liverpool.  Of  course  I 
came  back  directly,  and  I've  found  her  and 
myself,  too,  I  think. 

"  We're    to    be    married    to-morrow    at 
[174] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

Cousin  Phllura's.  —  She's  a  brick ;  Gene- 
vieve and  I  both  love  her.  So  is  her  min- 
ister. He  demurred  a  bit  about  marry- 
ing us  but  when  I'd  convinced  him  that  we 
were  both  of  age  and  knew  our  own  minds 
he  consented. 

"  Now,  don't  imagine  that  we're  going 
to  come  home  to  be  taken  care  of.  We're 
going  to  live  right  here  in  Innisfield.  It's 
a  bully  little  place  and  we  both  like  it. 
I'm  going  on  working  in  the  Trimmer  Em- 
porium. I  get  eight  dollars  a  week,  and 
I'll  jolly  old  Trimmer  up  into  making 
it  ten ;  and  besides  there's  the  five  hun- 
dred a  year  from  grandmother's  bequest. 
We'll  have  no  trouble  getting  on. 

"  I  hope  you  and  mother  will  come  to 
see  us  married.  I'd  feel  better  about  it, 
and  so  would  my  darling  girl.  But 
whether  you  will  or  not,  to-morrow  will 
find  your  affectionate  son  Gregory  Van 
Duser  the  happiest  man  alive !  " 

There  was  a  silence  which  could  be  felt 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

in  the  room  as  John  Van  Duser  read  the 
last  words  of  his  son's  letter.  He  folded 
the  sheet  and  returned  it  to  its  envelope. 
"  I  telegraphed  our  congratulations," 
he  said  slowly,  his  eyes  on  his  wife's  rigid 
face. 


[176] 


XII 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  seemed  to  come  to  life 
at  this. 

"Our  congratulations?"  she  repeated. 
"  Our  congratulations,  indeed !  No ; 
John.  I  must  decline  to  enter  into  any 
such  collusion,  even  with  you.  I  can 
never  — " 

Mr.  Van  Duser  drew  a  chair  to  his 
wife's  side,  and  deliberately  passed  his 
arm  about  her  substantial  waist.  He  was 
calm  and  smiling. 

"  Now,  Carrie,"  he  began,  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  allow  it." 

His  tone  was  pleasant  and  hib  grey  eyes 
were  actually  twinkling.  But  Caroline 
P.  Van  Duser  was  interiorly  convinced  of 
the  truth  of  his  words. 

She  answered  him  in  the  deepest;  most 
rotund  tones  of  her  platform  voice. 
[177] 


Miss  Philura's   IV ed ding  Gown 

"  My  dear  John,"  she  said  majestically, 
"  I  think  you  forget  yourself." 

These  words  addressed  to  any  other  in- 
dividual would  not  have  failed  of  their 
result.  A  blighted  human  being  would 
have  slunk  —  one  uses  the  word  advisedly 
—  slunk  quietly  and  unobtrusively  away 
from  the  Jovian  glance  of  Caroline  P. 
Van  Duser's  eyes,  and  blessed  the  oppor- 
tunity of  so  slinking. 

But  Jolm  Van  Duser  took  not  the 
slightest  notice  of  his  wife's  remark.  In- 
stead he  tightened  the  clasp  of  his  arm 
about  her  waist  and  said  quite  simply  and 
unaffectedly, 

"  I  never  told  you  before,  Carrie,  but 
I'm  going  to  now.  My  mother  didn't 
want  me  to  marry  you.  She  set  up  quite 
a  row  about  it  in  fact." 

He  appeared  to  relapse  into  revery. 

"W  —  what?"  stammered  the  lady  in 
the  motoring  bonnet.  "  Your  mother  — 
objected  — " 

[178] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

Either  the  idea  or  the  heat  of  the  room 
appeared  oppressive,  for  she  untied  the 
mammoth  structure  of  fur  and  velvet  and 
cast  it  from  her. 

"  That's  right,  Carrie,"  Mr.  Van  Duser 
said  kindly.  "  Better  take  your  coat  off, 
too." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  cried  Mrs.  Van 
Duser.     "Wasn't  I  a  Peabody?  " 

"  You  were  certainly  born  of  that  il- 
lustrious name,"  Mr.  Van  Duser  conceded. 
"  But  you  had  no  money,  while  Abby 
Decker  had  four  thousand  dollars  in  her 
own  right,  enough  to  buy  a  house  with, 
as  m_y  dear  mother  faithfully  pointed  out 
to  me,  in  season  and  out  of  season." 

"  Abby  Decker,"  repeated  Mrs.  Van 
Duser.  "  Abby  —  Decker !  Why,  John, 
she  — " 

"I  didn't  love  Abby  Decker,"  he  told 

her,  "  and  I  did  love  Carrie  Peabody.     I 

had  it  out  with  my  mother  along  that  line, 

and  I  won.     I  told  her  I  was  poor,  but  I 

[179] 


Mzss  Pkdlura's   Wedding  Gown 

didn't  intend  to  stay  so ;  that  I  didn't 
need  Abby  Decker's  four  thousand  dollars 
and  never  should.  But  I  did  need  and 
would  have  Carrie  Peabody." 

"  But,  John,  your  mother  never  so 
much  as  hinted  anything  of  the  sort  to 
me.     I  always  thought  — " 

"  You  always  thought  yourself  a  most 
welcome  addition  to  the  family.  Ex- 
actly so,  my  dear  Carrie,"  put  in  John 
Van  Duser.  "  My  mother  was  a  sensible 
woman,  in  the  main,  and  she  knew  me 
well  enough  to  understand  her  duty  to- 
ward you.  I  guess  she  wasn't  sorry  in 
the  long  run." 

Recalling  the  pampered  old  lady, 
swathed  in  costly  furs  and  sparkling  with 
the  diamonds  she  loved,  Mrs.  Van  Duser 
silently  agreed  with  him. 

"  But,  John,"  she  said,  this  time  with- 
out a  trace  of  her  platform  manner, 
"  this  —  this  seamstress  is  a  very  ordi- 
nary sort  of  person.  And  her  mother  — " 
[180] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gozvn 

She  finished  with  an  undisguised  shudder. 

"  I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Parsons  to-day," 
her  husband  said  slowly.  "  Greg's  letter 
came  by  the  morning  post,  and  I've  been 
rather  —  cr  —  busy  since.  To  tell  you 
the  truth,  Carrie,  there  isn't  a  shadow  of 
anything  derogatory  against  the  girl. 
They're  quite  poor  people ;  so  were  we. 
Don't  forget  it.  The  girl  has  a  fair  edu- 
cation. She  is  beautiful,  industrious,  and 
the  mother  told  me  there  was  a  Peabody 
cousin  somewhere  back,  on  the  father's 
side,  and  his  great-grandfather's  brother- 
in-law  was  a  Winthrop.  So  there  you 
have  it.  Greg  loves  her,  and  he's  going 
to  marry  her  to-morrow,  whether  we're 
there  with  a  blessing  or  not.  If  we're 
not—" 

John  Van  Duser  paused  to  eye  his  wife 
fixedly.  To  his  astonishment  he  saw  — 
not  the  Mrs.  J.  Mortimer  Van  Duser,  the 
august  partner  of  his  later  years,  the 
radio-active  centre  of  various  clubs  and 
[181] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

boards  of  management,  and  foremost  in 
the  steadily  increasing  ranks  of  fashion- 
able suffragists, —  no;  all  these  majestic 
and  truly  awe-inspiring  attributes  ap- 
peared to  have  dropped  away  like  the 
motor  cloak,  which  lay  upon  the  floor. 
What  he  saw  Avas  a  rather  stout  woman, 
past  middle  age,  but  looking  every  inch 
the  mother  of  his  son. 

Her  eyes  sought  his  own  appealingly, 
almost  humbly. 

"  If  we  —  if  we  don't  go,  you  think 
Greg—?" 

"  We  should  Ibse  him,"  he  said.  "  And, 
really,  my  dear,  a  beautiful  daughter, 
distantly  related  to  yourself  and  the  Win- 
throps,  what  couldn't  you  make  of  her?  " 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 
Her  eyes  became  reminiscent. 

"  Her  manner,"  she  mused,  "  was  really 
distinguished.  I  thought  so  at  the  time. 
And  her  figure  —  properly  gowned  — 
yes,  well — " 

[182] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gozvn 

John  Van  Duser  drew  her  into  both 
arms  and  kissed  her  on  the  hesitating  lips. 
"  That's  my  sensible  Carrie.  I  knew 
you'd  see  it.  We'll  go  down  to-morrow, 
and  dine  with  Philura  after  the  young 
folks  have  gone  on  their  honeymoon." 

Mrs.   Van   Duser   lay   supinely    against 
his  shoulder. 

"  I  don't  seem  able  to  resist  anything, 
even  to  dining  with  Philura  Rice,"  she 
said  weakly.  "But,  John,  surely  we 
can't  allow  Greg  to  live  in  Innisfield  and 
go  on  working  for  that  —  Bimmer  per- 
son. Small  shop-keeping  is  so  vulgar, 
and  the  poor  things  couldn't  exist  on  the 
absurd  figures  Gregory  mentioned." 

"  Oh,  yes  they  could,"  asserted  John 
Van  Duser  cheerfully.  "  We  lived  on  less^ 
and  you  did  the  cooking  and  washed  the 
dishes.  My  word,  I'd  like  one  of  your 
pies  occasionally  now,  if  I  could  get  it. 
But,  I'll  tell  you,  Carrie,  I've  looked  into 
that  Trimmer  business.  I  found  the  pro- 
[183] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

prietor  a  decent  fellow,  very  much  in  need 
of  capital.  He's  got  a  fair  start  over  all 
competitors,  and  in  the  end  I  decided  — 
not  to  make  '  Milt '  one  of  them." 

He  paused  to  chuckle  to  himself. 

"Milt?"  inquired  his  wife,  sitting  up, 
and  beginning  to  replace  her  loosened 
hairpins. 

"  That's  what  Trimmer  calls  Gregory," 
he  told  her.  "  '  Here  you,  Milt,  run  down 
and  put  coal  on  the  furnace,'  "  he  quoted. 
"  It  won't  hurt  him,  not  a  bit  of  it.  And 
he  knows  it,  the  young  rascal !  " 

"  I  could  bring  her  out  this  winter," 
said  Mrs.  Van  Duser,  "  and  if  Gregory 
wants  to  work  why  not  take  him  in  with 
you  ?  " 

John  Van  Duser  smote  his  knee  with  his 
flattened  palm, 

"  Let  him  go  his  own  gait,  I  say,  Car- 
rie. It'll  make  a  man  of  him  as  nothing 
else  will.  And  they  need  to  be  alone  to- 
gether, in  their  own  nest,  just  as  we  were, 
[184] 


Miss  Pkilura's   Wedding  Gown 

my  dear,  in  what  I  sometimes  look  back 
to  as  the  happiest  days  of  my  life." 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  arose  to  the  full  height 
of  her  majestic  figure. 

''  John,"  she  said  solemnly,  "  I  shall 
teach  Gregory's  wife  how  to  make  pie- 
crust properly," 


[185] 


XIII 

Happily  unaware  of  the  crucial  hour 
upon  which  depended  much  of  their  fu- 
ture peace  and  happiness,  young  Gregory 
Van  Duser  and  Genevieve  Parsons  sat  in 
Malvina  Bennett's  dingy  little  sitting- 
room,  with  its  base-burner,  its  centre 
table  covered  with  a  chenille  table  spread, 
its  crayon  presentments  of  departed  Ben- 
netts, and  its  kerosene  lamp,  illumining 
the  blond  head  of  Genevieve  drooped  over 
the  white  stuff  in  her  lap. 

There  had  been  no  question  whatever  as 
to  what  Genevieve  should  be  married  in. 

"  You're  a-goin'  t'  stan'  up  in  a  white 
dress,  Genevieve,"  Malvina  Bennett  had 
said.  "  I  c'n  throw  it  together  in  two 
jerks  of  a  lamb's  tail,  an'  any  way  Phi- 
lura  Rice's  goods  ain't  come  yet  —  I'll  bet 
she'll  have  to  be  married  in  her  black  an' 
purple." 

[186] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gozvn 

Miss  Bennett  had  marched  straight  to 
the  Trimmer  Emporium,  where  she  had 
cheerfully  expended  the  whole  of  a  ten 
dollar  bill  on  breadths  of  shimmering 
white  silk  and  several  yards  of  the  useful 
lace  known  as  "  German  Val." 

It  was  upon  this  creation  that  Gene- 
vieve was  putting  certain  deft  Parisian 
touches  learned  of  Miss  Popham. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Gregory  fervently, 
"  that  you'd  put  away  that  sewing  and 
look  at  me." 

Genevieve  looked  at  him  over  the  airy 
stuff  in  her  lap;  demure  dimples  played 
about  her  lips. 

She  looked  as  distract ingly  lovely  as  a 
beautiful  girl  may,  when  sewing  her  wed- 
ding gown  in  the  presence  of  the  man  she 
will  marry  on  the  morrow.  Gregory 
promptly  lost  his  head,  with  results  which 
may  be  imagined. 

"Couldn't  Malvina  finish  it?"  he 
begged. 

[187] 


Mm  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

"  She  couldn't  finish  what  I'm  doing," 
the  girl  told  him,  and  exhibited  with  pride 
the  embroidery  she  was  setting  here  and 
there  upon  the  garment. 

He  felt  in  his  pocket  and  presently  pro- 
duced a  piece  of  yellow  paper. 

"  I  want  you  to  see  father's  telegram. 
You   see  everything's   all  right,   dear." 

She  read  the  scrawl,  a  sweet  gravity  on 
her  young  face. 

"  I  was  afraid  your  —  your  mother 
would  never  forgive  us,"  she  said,  "  but  it 
says,  '  Hearty  congratulations  from 
mother   and  self.     Will  be  with  you   to- 


morrow.' " 


"  He  sent  it  right  off  the  bat,"  exulted 
Gregory,  "  soon  as  he  got  my  letter.  I 
tell  you,  my  dad  is  a  brick;  so  is  mother, 
when  you  come  to  know  her.  But  I'll 
confess  I  was  a  bit  surprised  to  have  her 
come  around  without  a  protest." 

Her  swift  glance  warned  him  to  for- 
bear. He  had  been  about  to  confide  to 
[188] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

her  the  maternal  ambitions  concerning 
Lady  Clara.      Instead  he  said, 

"  Shall  we  keep  house  or  board  when 
we  come  back?  " 

"  Keep  house,  of  course,"  she  told  him. 
"  I  can  do  everything." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  adoring  awe. 

*'  We  shall  only  have  what  I  earn  and 
grandmother's  money.  It  won't  be 
much.  Do  you  suppose  we  can  do  it.? 
What   do  you   say,  Genevieve?  " 

She  cast  him  a  delicious  glance  of  pat- 
ronage over  the  white  stuff  in  her  lap. 

"  I'm  used  to  being  poor,  even  if  you 
aren't.  We  shall  have  everything  we 
need.     Have  you  a  piece  of  paper?  " 

He  felt  about  in  his  pocket  and  pro- 
duced a  half  sheet  of  letter  paper,  folded 
once  across. 

"  Put  down  first,  rent  twenty  dollars," 
she  commanded. 

He  gazed  at  her  incredulously. 

"  Malvina  only  pays  seventeen  for 
"[189] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Govsn 

this,"  she  said  crisply,  "  and  we  can't  af- 
ford more." 

"All  right,"  he  agreed.  "I'd  rather 
live  here  with  you  than  anywhere  else 
without  you.     Now  what  ?  " 

"  I  know  you'll  be  hungry  and  want  a 
lot  to  eat.  But  we'll  have  a  garden  and 
some  fruit  trees,"  she  went  on,  a  little 
pucker  between  her  brown  eyes,  "  so  we'll 
say  food  forty." 

"You  mean  forty  a  week  —  eh?  Yes. 
I  guess  that's  about  the  figure." 

"  I  mean  a  month,"  she  corrected  him 
with  the  gentle  superiority  born  of  expe- 
rience. "  Then  we'll  have  forty  left  for 
clothes,  fuel,  amusements,  church,  travel- 
ling and  —  and  everything  else,  little 
things  one  doesn't  think  of,  you  know." 

"  Contingencies,"  murmured  Gregory, 
setting  down  the  forty  dollars  in  his 
meagre  row  of  figures  and  eyeing  it  con- 
templatively. 

Then  he  passed  the  sheet  over  to  the 
[190] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

girl,  who  surveyed  it,  her  pretty  head  on 
one  side. 

"  We  shan't  have  a  bit  of  trouble  on 
that,"  she  asserted  hopefully. 

She  turned  the  bit  of  paper  over  and 
glanced  at  the  other  side. 

"Why  — what— ?" 

He  was  looking  over  her  shoulder  and 
incidentally  dropping  an  occasional  kiss 
on  her  bright  hair. 

"  Oh,  that,"  he  said,  "  is  a  Scriptural 
curiosity.  I  picked  it  up  in  the  store 
the  other  day." 

"  '  The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd,  I  shall  not 
want  ten  vards  of  white  silk,  with  lin- 
ings,'  "  read  the  girl.  "  Why,  Greg,  it's 
a  shopping  list." 

"  Read  the  rest,"  he  urged ;  "  perhaps 
you'll  tell  me  what  it  means." 

"  Two  white  petticoats  —  I'd  like  one  to 
be  trimmed  with  an  embroidered  ruffle  (she 
obeyed  him).  Four  pairs  of  good  stock- 
ings —  one  pair  white,  please.  Three 
[191] 


M2SS  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

n.  g.s  —  One  very  pretty,  trimmed  with 
lace.  A  warm  cloak  —  I'd  love  to  have  a 
fur  collar  on  it.  And  thank  you  for  ev- 
erything.    All  things  are  mine  !  " 

"Isn't  that  a  unique  document?" 
Gregory  demanded.  "  And  what,  if  one 
may  inquire,  is  an  '  n.  g.'.?  I've  always 
translated  that  particular  combination  of 
letters  into  *  no  good.'  But  it  doesn't  ap- 
pear to  work  out,  when  trimmed  with  lace." 

But  Genevieve  was  not  even  smiling. 
Instead  something  very  like  a  mist  dimmed 
her  bright  eyes  as  she  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Greg,"  she  said,  her  voice  vibrating 
between  tears  and  laughter,  "  don't  you 
understand.''  This  is  a  shopping  list; 
but  it's  not  meant  for  your  eyes  nor  mine. 
That  dear  little  Miss  Philura  wrote  it. 
It's  her  handwriting  and  her  letter  paper ; 
I've  seen  both." 

"  Well,"  he  commented  stupidly. 
"  Why  should  my  dear  old  cousin  mix  her 
metaphors  in  such  a  remarkable  way.? 
[192] 


Mtss  Philura's   Wedding  Gozvn 

Isn't   that  first  line    out    of   the   Bible?" 

"  Of  course  it  is,  Greg.  She  hasn't  any 
money,  poor  dear,  to  buy  these  things ;  so 
she  — " 

He  grasped  the  idea  without  further 
elucidation. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  cried,  staring  at  the 
paper ;  "  it's  a  draft  on  the  Encircling 
Good.     Is  that  what  you  mean.?  " 

"  She  talked  to  me  about  it,"  murmured 
the  girl.  "  She  said  you  —  were  in  it  — 
the  Encircling  Good,  I  mean ;  and  that 
everything  would  come  right,  if  I  only  be- 
lieved. And  oh,  Greg,  I  didn't  believe 
anything  could  change  your  mother  after 
—  after  what  she  said  to  me.  But  some- 
thing did, —  you  see,  and  we  are  so 
happy ! " 

"  I'm  blessed  if  I  won't  play  the  part," 
declared  young  Gregory,  some  moments 
later,  during  which  no  embroidery 
stitches  were  added  to  the  wonder  in  her 
lap. 

[193] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

"  You  mean  — ?  " 

"  I'll  honour  the  draft.  You  buy  the 
things,  dear, —  you  know  what  she'll  like, 
and  we'll  give  them  to  her." 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  I  shouldn't  like  her  to  know  we'd  seen 
this,"  she  said  slowly.  "  Besides  we  don't 
know  exactly  what  she'd  like.  The  cloak 
with  the  fur  collar  —  It  would  have  to 
be  fitted." 

"  Suppose  I  shove  some  money  under 
the  door.  That's  a  bully  way  to  do,  when 
you  can't  come  right  out  with  it.  Just 
seal  it  in  an  envelope  and  — " 

The  bride-to-be  suddenly  caught  his 
eager  face  between  her  two  hands. 

"  I  have  it,  Greg!  "  she  cried.  "  We'll 
rent  Miss  Philura's  cottage.  She'll  be 
going  to  the  parsonage  to  live,  and  won't 
want  it  any  more." 

"  It's  a  great  little  place,"  he  approved, 
*'  apple  trees  in  the  back  yard  and  a  hen 
house.  Oh,  I'll  dig  the  garden  all  right, 
[194] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

and  you  shall  ^gg  on  the  hens  to  furnish- 
ing us  with  lots  of  custards  and  omelets. 
We'll  do  it,  and  I'll  pay  six  months  in 
advance,  and  that'll  take  care  of  that 
blessed  little  woman's  wants." 


[195] 


XIV 

Miss  Philura  never  forgot  that  par- 
ticular Saturday  —  the  one  just  before 
her  marriage  to  the  Rev.  Silas  Pettibone. 
For  on  that  day  several  of  "  God's  pur- 
poses," which  had  long  persisted  in  the 
bud,  suddenly  unfolded  before  the  little 
lady's  astonished  eyes. 

The  day  began  early  —  long  before  the 
light,  in  fact ;  for  the  house  must  be  swept 
and  dusted  and  scrubbed  and  polished,  as 
never  before,  in  honour  of  the  wedding 
which  was  to  take  place  under  its  roof 
that  day. 

To  think  of  dear  Gregory,  she  mused, 
and  that  lovely  Genevieve  —  how  happy 
they  will  be!  And  Cousin  Caroline  and 
Mr.  Van  Duser  (she  had  never  ventured 
to  cousin  that  awful  personage) — they 
had  not  appeared  to  be  at  all  angry  — 
were  coming  to  the  wedding;  they  would 
dine  with  her.  Never  in  her  wildest 
[196] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

dreams   could  she  have  thought  of  any- 
thing so  surprising. 

At  six-thirty  as  she  carefully  wiped 
down  the  attic  stairs  (one  could  never  tell 
where  guests  might  wish  to  go)  her  mind 
reverted  for  a  fleeting  instant  to  the  white 
wedding  garment  of  her  imaginings.  It 
had  not  emerged  from  the  Encircling 
Good,  and  Miss  Philura's  eyes  wore  a 
wondering,  troubled  expression.  Could 
it  be  possible  that  she  had  allowed 
"  fleshly  and  carnal  desires  "  to  carry  her 
away?  The  Apostle  Paul  certainly  men- 
tioned such  sins  — "  the  lust  of  the  flesh, 
the  lust  of  the  eyes,  the  pride  of  life." 
She  had  deliberately  avoided  certain  pas- 
sages of  the  Pauline  Epistles  in  her  Scrip- 
ture reading  of  late.  How  (she  secretly 
wondered)  could  the  Apostle  Paul  under- 
stand a  woman's  heart  and  a  woman's  de- 
sires? He  had  refused  marriage  (though 
undeniably  he  had  boasted  that  he  might 
marry  if  he  wanted  to).  And  he  had  sup- 
[197] 


Mdss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

posed  the  world  was  coming  to  an  end  iri 
his  day.  It  had  not  come  to  an  end  in 
the  Pauline  epoch,  for  here  was  Miss 
Philura  painstakingly  removing  imaginary 
dust  from  the  attic  stairs  and  thinking 
about  the  white  dress  which  remained  in- 
exorably hid  from  her  eyes. 

"  Maybe  it  was  Genevieve's  dress  I  was 
thinking  about  all  the  time,"  she  told  her- 
self with  a  faint  renunciatory  sigh.  "  I'd 
rather  she'd  have  it,  if  there's  only  one 
dress  there.  I  shan't  mind  wearing  the 
black  and  purple  brocade;  perhaps  itil 
be  more  suitable." 

She  presently  forgot  all  about  the 
Apostle  Paul  as  remotely  related  to  wed- 
ding dresses,  in  the  fervour  of  her  labours. 
At  eight  o'clock  she  had  worked  her  way 
through  the  upstairs  bedrooms,  and  was 
just  beginning  the  searching  quest  for 
dust  along  the  edges  of  the  front  stair 
carpet  when  she  heard  a  loud  imperative 
knock  at  the  back  door. 
[198] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Goiun 

It  would  be  the  milkman,  she  concluded, 
with  the  half  pint  of  milk,  which  to-day 
must  be  increased  to  a  quart,  in  view  of 
the  guests  she  had  intrepidly  undertaken 
to  entertain. 

She  hastily  opened  the  door,  to  con- 
front the  butter-woman. 

"  This  ain't  my  regular  day,  I  know," 
apologised  Huldah,  as  she  deliberately 
stepped  in  and  deposited  a  basket  on  the 
table.  "  Thinks  s'  I,  mebbe  she  c'd  use 
an  extry  fowl,  seein'  'twas  her  las'  Sunday 
t'  home.  So  I  jes'  jumped  in  m'  wagon 
an'  come  down  the  hill." 

Miss  Philura's  face  was  glorified  with 
surprised  colour. 

"  Did  you  know  —  had  you  heard  I 
was  going  to  have  a  wedding  here  to- 
day? "  she  asked. 

"A  weddin'?" 

The  butter-woman's  broad  smile  sud- 
denly faded. 

"  I  thought  —  Didn't  you  tell  me  you 
[199] 


Miss  Vhilurc^s  Wedding  Gown 

was  goin'  t'  be  married  Thanksgivin' 
Day?     You  —  you  said  so!" 

"  Oh,  I  am  to  be  married  Thanksgiving 
Day.  This  is  my  cousin's  wedding  — 
and  so  unexpected;  and  his  father  and 
mother  coming  from  Boston.  And  I  in- 
vited them  to  dinner.  And  Malvina  told 
me  last  night  Genevieve's  mother  is  com- 
ing, too." 

"Got  anybody  t'  help  you?"  in- 
quired Huldah  briskly.  "  I  sh'd  think 
you'd  need  somebody  t'  take  a-holt." 

"  Malvina's  going  to  do  what  she  can, 
but  of  course  she's  busy  with  Genevieve, 
and  — " 

The  butter-woman  removed  her  blanket 
shawl. 

"  Here  I  be,  stout  an'  willin'.  Jest  tell 
me  what,  an'  I'll  whirl  in  an'  do  it.  You 
look  all  beat  out  a'ready,  an'  I  don't  be- 
lieve you've  put  on  an  ounce  o'  fat  sence 
I  was  here  last.  Land!  You  remind  me 
of  a  hen  I  had  once;  I  couldn't  no  more 
[200] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

fatten  her  'n  I  c'd  flesh  up  the  wind.  Al- 
ways on  the  go.  But  I  fixed  her.  Shet 
her  up  in  a  coop  where  the'  wa'n't  nothin' 
else  t'  take  up  her  mind.  You'd  ought  t' 
seen  her  eat." 

The  butter-woman  unrolled  a  gingham 
apron  and  tied  it  about  her  substantial 
waist. 

"  I  kind  o'  thought  I  c'd  find  somethin' 
t'  do  t'day,"  she  observed  complacently. 
'•  I  git  lonesome  up  t'  my  house  'long 
'bout  this  time  o'  th'  year,  an'  I'd  admire 
t'  help  you  out,  if  you  say  so.  How'd 
you  like  a  chicken  pie  fer  dinner?  You 
bet  I  c'n  make  a  good  one ! " 

Miss  Philura  breathed  a  deep  sigh  of 
relief.  The  central  dish  of  that  particu- 
lar dinner  had  lain  heavily  upon  her  soul, 
since  she  had  so  rashly  proffered  her  hos- 
pitality. 

"  Chicken-pie  with  plenty  o'  good, 
rich  cream  gravy,  mashed  p'tatoes,  biled 
onions  —  I  fetched  a  few,  thinkin'  mebbe 
[201] 


Mdss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

you  c'd  use  'em.  An'  what  fer  dessert  — 
heh?" 

"  I  prepared  sponge  cake  and  lemon 
jelly,  yesterday,"  twittered  Miss  Philura, 
"  I  thought  — " 

"  An'  I'll  whip  up  a  pint  o'  cream  — 
that'll  go  all  right.  Now  I  guess  I  '11 
put  th'  chicken  over  t'  simmer  gentle  like, 
while  I  scrub  up." 

"  But  your  —  horse?  " 

*'  He's  blanketed,  an'  sound  asleep  on 
two  legs  a'rcady.  I  got  t'  run  out, 
though,  an'  fetch  in  somethin'  out  th' 
wagon." 

The  something  was  a  flat,  oblong  par- 
cel wrapped  in  newspaper,  which  Huldah 
brought  in  under  her  apron  and  deposited 
on  a  chair  in  the  corner  of  the  kitchen. 

"  I  don't  want  you  should  look  at  it 
till  after  I'm  gone,"  she  said,  turning  her 
broad  back  on  Miss  Philura,  and  speak- 
ing through  the  sacrificial  smoke  of  the 
singeing  chicken.  "  Ef  I  ain't  done  right, 
[202] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

you  c'n  let  me  know  most  any  time,  an' 
the'  ain't  no  harm  done." 

Any  fleeting  curiosity  which  Miss  Phi- 
lura  might  properly  have  experienced  was 
speedily  swept  away  by  the  onrushing 
flood  of  events.  At  ten  o'clock  came  in 
young  Gregory  Van  Duser  to  unfold  to 
Miss  Philura  his  plan  for  renting  her  cot- 
tage. 

"  Don't  tell  me  you  have  disposed  of  it 
already,"  he  begged.  "  Genevieve  has  set 
her  heart  on  living  here." 

Miss  Philura  gazed  at  him  incredu- 
lously. 

"Living  here?"  she  echoed.  "You 
can't  mean  that  you  —  would  think  of  — " 

"Why  not?"  he  urged.  "I've  always 
liked  it  since  —  er  —  since  I  had  that 
bully  little  supper  with  you.  Why  didn't 
you  tell  me  straight  off  that  you  knew  my 
darling  girl?  " 

There  was  a  shadow  of  reproach  in  his 
honest  eyes. 

[203] 


Miss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

"I  —  was  so  taken  by  —  by  surprise,** 
murmured  Miss  Philura,  with  a  propitia- 
tory smile.  '*  And  your  dear  mother  — 
I  couldn't  think  what  my  duty  was,  just 
at  first,  you  know.  Then  Mr.  Pettibone 
came  in  and  you  —  I  thought  I  should 
like  to  ask  his  advice  in  so  serious  a  mat- 
ter." 

Young  Gregory  smiled  upon  her  almost 
pityingly. 

"  So  you  fancied  you  would  take  sides 
with  mother  —  eh?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  my  dear ;  surely  not !  I 
only  — " 

"  And  what  did  the  minister  say?  " 

"  He  said  at  once  I  had  no  right  to 
keep  Genevieve  from  you.  He  thought  I 
should  have  told  you  — " 

"  Bully  for  Silas !  "  cried  Gregory  ir- 
reverently. "  I'll  go  to  church  from  now 
on  with  the  regularity  of  a  haloed  saint. 
You'll  see ! " 

Miss  Philura  wiped  her  eyes.  "  I  am 
[204] 


Mm  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

so  —  so    glad,"    she    said    quite    unaffect- 
edly. 

"  But  the  house  —  may  we  have  it?  — 
just  as  it  is,  please." 

Miss   Philura  hesitated. 

"I  hadn't  thought  about  renting  it?" 
she  said.  "  Of  course  I  have  lived  here 
all  my  life,  and  it  is  a  very  well  built 
house.     But  — " 

"  It  wants  a  few  repairs,  I  dare  say." 

"You  would  have  to  be  careful  about 
emptying  the  pans  on  the  attic  floor  every 

time  it  rained there  are  four  of  them 

—  and  the  oil-cloth  around  the  chimney 
has  to  be  wiped  up  every  day  when  there 
is    snow   on   the   roof.     Besides  • — " 

"Well?"  he  suggested  hopefully.     "I 
guess  we  could  cope  with  the  roof  in  one 
way  or  another.     What  else?  " 
Miss  Philura  shook  her  head. 
"  I'm  so  used  to  living  here,"  she  said 
gently;    "but    I'm    afraid    you    wouldn't 
know  how  to  shut  the  side  door  at  night ; 
[205] 


Mns  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

you  have  to  lift  it  just  a  little  on  the 
hinges  before  you  lock  it.  Then  there's 
the  pantry  window;  it  has  to  be  stuffed 
with  paper  in  very  cold  weather,  because 
it's  a  little  loose  on  one  side." 

*'  All  right,  I  guess  we  could  get  along 
with  the  pantry  window,"  he  said  confi- 
dently.    "Is  it  a  go,  cousin?" 

Miss  Philura's  blue  eyes  wore  an  intro- 
spective look. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  could  manage  the 
broken  water  pipe  at  the  back  door  the 
way  I  do,"  she  said.  "  I  have  to  be  very 
careful  with  pails,  keeping  them  emptied, 
you  know.  I  remember  one  time  I  was 
in  Boston  over  three  nights  and  Malvina 
Bennett,  who  had  promised  to  attend  to 
it,  in  case  of  rain,  quite  forgot.  And 
when  I  arrived,  there  was  a  foot  of  water 
in  the  cellar." 

"  One  could  have  a  new  pipe,"  offered 
Gregory.     "  You   wouldn't   mind,  I   sup- 


pose.'' " 


[206] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  But  re- 
pairs have  been  quite  out  of  the  question, 
you  know.  And  one  can  manage  quite 
nicely,  if  accustomed  to  a  house." 

"  Will  you  trust  us  to  live  in  it,  if  we'll 
promise  to  take  the  best  kind  of  care  of 
everything  ?  —  Give  you  a  lease,  with  ev- 
erything down  in  black  and  white.  Rent 
payable  in  advance,  twice  a  year." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  couldn't  think  of  ask- 
ing rent  of  one  of  my  own  relatives,  and 
Cousin  Caroline  always  the  soul  of  kind- 
ness !  If  you  and  Genevieve  could  be 
happy  here  —  and  it's  really  a  very  good 
house ;  very  well  built,  and  so  comfortable 
—  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  have  you 
here." 

Gregory  Van  Duser  shook  his  head  de- 
cidedly. 

"  Couldn't  think  of  it   on  those  terms, 
Cousin    Philura.     Now,    look   here,   we've 
got  to  rent  some  house  and  we  can't   af- 
ford to  pay  much,  so  why  not  this  one. 
[207] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

You've  got  a  jolly  little  garden  and  a 
hen-house." 

"  I  have  no  chickens,"  she  interrupted 
plaintively.  "  And  the  windows  are  quite 
destroyed,  I  fear." 

"  I  was  so  sure  you'd  say  '  yes  '  that  I 
brought  the  lease.  We  want  to  come 
back  to  a  home  —  Genevieve  and  I. 
Won't  you  look  at  it,  please;  and  sign 
right  here." 

Miss  Phllura  gazed  distractedly  at  the 
legal-looking  document  he  spread  before 
her.  Then  all  in  a  flutter  she  reached 
for  her  pen. 

"  But,"  he  expostulated,  "  you  haven't 
even  looked  at  it.  Never  sign  your  name 
to  anything  you  don't  read  carefully 
first." 

It  was  a  tremulous  little  signature  she 
affixed  after  five  minutes  given  to  diligent 
study  of  the  document. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  that  we  aren't  do- 
ing you.'*"  he  asked  judicially,  "We 
[208] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

want  everything  ship-shape  and  —  er  — 
legal,  you  know." 

With  that  he  took  a  roll  of  bills  from 
his  pocket  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"  Just  six  months'  rent.  Please  re- 
ceipt for  it,  cousin,"  and  he  shoved  a  form 
across  the  table,  with  a  strictly  business 
air. 

"  There !  Now  we've  got  a  roof  over 
our  heads.     Hurray !  " 

And  he  seized  the  dazed  little  lady  and 
whirled  her  about  in  a  mad  dance  of  tri- 
umph. 

"  We'll  take  care  of  everything,  repair 
when  necessary  and  pay  up  regular.  If 
we  don't,  you  can  evict  us  —  see  terms  of 
the  lease !  "  was  his  parting  word  as  he 
hurried  away. 

"  Why  —  why  !  "  murmured  Miss  Phi- 
lura,  with  dazzled  eyes,  as  she  counted  the 
bills.  Then  she  hugged  them  to  her 
breast  in  a  rapture  of  gratitude. 

"  And  to  think  it  had  never  occurred  to 
[209] 


Mns  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

me  I  could  rent  my  house  for  so  much 
money !  " 

The  Encircling  Good,  she  concluded, 
was  filled  with  kind  thoughts  travelling 
from  heart  to  heart  and  flowering  in 
beautiful  and  unexpected  ways. 

The  rest  of  that  surprising  day  was 
like  its  beginning.  At  eleven  came  a  great 
hamper  from  a  local  florist. 

"  Just  a  few  dozen  roses,  ma'am,"  ex- 
plained the  man  who  brought  it,  "  and  a 
bit  of  green  for  mantels  and  such.  An' 
I'm  to  fix  'em  if  you  please." 

At  a  quarter  to  twelve  arrived  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  J.  INIortimer  Van  Duser,  from  Bos- 
ton in  their  limousine,  which  appeared 
taxed  to  its  utmost  capacity  by  the  boxes 
and  bundles  which  the  footman  brought 
into  the  house. 

"  A  few  wedding  gifts  for  dear  Gregory 

and  —  Genevieve,"    explained    Mrs.    Van 

Duser  graciously,   though  it  was   evident 

that  the  name  of  her  daughter-in-law-to- 

[210] 


Miss  VUilurcCs  Wedding  Gown 

be    came    hard.     "  And    Mr.    Van    Duser 

thought,  as  your  own  wedding  was  so 
near,  we  might  bring  our  gifts  to  you." 

There  was  no  time  for  the  busy  little 
hostess  to  take  a  single  peep  into  the 
boxes  marked  with  her  own  name,  for  the 
minister  was  already  coming  up  the  walk. 
And  not  ten  minutes  behind  him  came 
Gregory  Van  Duser  with  the  sweetest  girl 
in  the  world,  wrapped  in  a  great  furred 
coat  against  the  cold. 

Miss  Philura  caught  herself  holding 
her  breath  with  painful  intensity  as  she 
opened  the  hospitable  old  door  —  hers  no 
longer  —  to  the  young  couple.  And  it 
must  be  owned  that  even  the  puissant 
Mrs.  Van  Duser  momentarily  shrank  from 
the  imminent  meeting  with  the  girl  whom 
she  had  last  seen  standing  proud  and  pale 
in  the  shabby  front  room  of  the  shabby 
house  in  East  Boston.  The  girl  had  won, 
and  Mrs.  Van  Duser  couldn't  help  stiffen- 
ing a  little  after  her  old  awe-inspiring 
[211 J 


M2SS  PkUura's  Wedding  Gown 

fashion,  when  she  greeted  Genevieve  amid 
the  pink  roses  and  trailing  greenery  which 
had  transformed  Miss  Philura's  little  par- 
lour into  a  veritable  bridal  bower. 

But  Mr.  J.  Mortimer  Van  Duser! — 
Miss  Philura  glowed  with  shame  at  sight 
of  the  grey  cat  placidly  stroking  his  whis- 
kers by  the  fire.  How  could  she  have 
called  him  "  Mortimer "  in  a  spirit  of 
sinful  reprisal?  This  was  a  new  species 
of  Van  Duser,  new  at  least  to  Miss  Phi- 
lura; this  was  the  John  Van  Duser  who 
had  triumphantly  wooed  and  won  Carrie 
Peabody  long  ago,  and  afterward  every- 
thing else  in  sight  worth  having.  Few 
people  knew  him  now;  even  his  wife  had 
half  forgotten  that  such  a  genial,  tact- 
ful, altogether  agreeable  person  existed. 

It  was  all  over  quickly;  even  the  din- 
ner, at  which  Miss  Philura  found  herself 
entertaining  the  whole  company. 

"  Don't  you  worry  a  mite,"  was  the 
butter-woman's  exhortation.     "  I've  got  a 


M2SS  Fhilura's   Wedding  Goivn 

plenty  for  all  comers,  an'  that  there 
young  feller  that  come  with  the  ice-cream 
an'  things  is  goin'  to  wait  on  table.  He 
says  he's  us't  t'  doin'  it,  an'  he  cert'nly 
doos  take  a-holt  good." 

It  was  all  a  part  of  the  dream  —  and 
by  this  time  Miss  Philura  had  given  her- 
self without  reserve  to  the  sweeping  cur- 
rent of  pleasant  surprises  which  appeared 
to  flow  out  of  the  invisible,  filling  all  the 
meagre  channels  of  her  life  to  overflowing. 

At  four  o'clock  the  butter-woman  was 
pinning  her  heavy  shawl  about  her. 

"  Well,  I  guess  I'll  be  goin'  along,"  she 
said.  "  You  mus'  be  about  beat  out  with 
all  the  doin's.  But  wa'n't  that  girl  a  pic- 
ter  a-standin'  up  t'  be  married ;  I  peeked 
in  th'  door  an'  seen  it  all.  An'  the  ol' 
folks,  they  was  lookin'  at  both  of  'em, —  I 
had  t'  laf  at  that  big,  up-standin'  lady ; 
she  didn't  want  t'  cry ;  but  she  couldn't 
no  more  help  it  than  nothin'.  Well,  I 
washed  up  everythin',  but  mebbe  I  ain't 
[213] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

put  things  in  their  right  places.  You 
c'n  do  that  when  you  git  rested.  Now 
I'm  a-goin'  along." 

But  Miss  Philura  had  seized  both  the 
brown  hands  in  her  own. 

"  Dear  Huldah,"  she  said,  "  I  couldn't 
have  done  it  alone.  I  didn't  know  they 
were  all  going  to  stay.  I  hadn't  dishes 
enough,  nor  spoons  and  forks.  Where  did 
you  get  those  pretty  sprigged  plates  ?  " 

"Oh,  them?  The  young  feller  from 
Boston  fetched  'em.  He  was  a  reel  clever 
chap,  an'  he  said  my  chicken-pie  'n' 
mashed  p'tatoes  went  ahead  of  anything 
he  ever  tasted.     His  name  was  Tom." 

The  butter-woman  opened  the  door  sud- 
denly. 

"  I'm  glad  I  come,"  she  said,  in  a  curi- 
ously smothered  voice.  "  I  wouldn't  a 
missed  it.  Ef  you  don't  want  what's  in 
that  box  I'll  take  it  away  nex'  time  I 
come.     Good-bye !  " 

Miss  Philura  heaved  a  long  sigh  of 
[214] 


Miss  Fhilura^s   Wedding  Gown 

mingled  relief  and  weariness  when  she 
found  herself  once  more  alone  in  the  little 
house.  There  was  a  scent  of  roses  in  the 
air,  and  the  glamour  of  romance  and  hap- 
piness still  lingered  about  the  quiet  rooms, 
once  so  sombre  and  desolate.  Then  re- 
membering the  butter-woman's  words  she 
lifted  the  oblong  parcel  which  had  lain 
all  day  on  a  chair  in  the  kitchen  and  car- 
ried it  to  the  window  where  the  red  light 
of  the  westering  sun  streamed  in. 

A  stout  string  secured  the  newspaper 
wrappings,  and  to  this  was  pinned  a  scrap 
of  paper,  on  which  Huldah  had  written 
in  her  cramped  handwriting: 

"  Miss  Philura,  mam.  Once  I  was  go- 
ing to  be  married.  It  was  to  be  on 
Thanksgiving  Day.  But  he  got  drowned 
at  sea  and  never  come  back.  So  I  kept 
the  dress  all  these  years.  Tom  bought  it 
for  me  in  London.     If  you'll  wear  it  I'll 

be  happy." 

Miss   Philura   lifted  the  lid  of  shining 
[215] 


Miss  Fhilura^s  Wedding  Gown 

dark  wood,  all  set  with  buds  and  leaves  of 
mother  of  pearl,  and  the  imperishable 
odour  of  roses  long  dead  floated  out  to 
mingle  with  the  fragrance  of  the  bridal 
blooms.  Beneath  the  wrappings  of  silken 
tissue  lay  something  softly  white,  like  the 
petals  of  chrysanthemums  lapping  over  a 
heart  of  gold. 

Miss  Philura  touched  it  with  tremulous 
fingers ;  then  she  took  it  from  the  box  and 
the  rich,  creamy  satin  flowed  all  about  her 
to  the  floor. 

And  so  Malvina  Bennett  came  upon  her, 
unaware,  when  she  quietly  opened  the 
door. 

"  I  jest  run  over  t'  — "  began  Miss  Ben- 
nett. Then  she  stopped  short  with  up- 
lifted hands. 

"  My,  my !  Your  goods  is  come  at  last, 
ain't  it,  an'  jest  in  the  nick  o'  time !  " 

Miss  Philura  gazed  at  her  old  friend 
•j  through  a  glorified  mist  of  tears.  She  was 
/  thinking,  though  she  did  not  tell  Malvina 

[ai6] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

so,  that  her  bridal  dress  was  truly  a  holy 
garment,  since  it  had  been  the  gift  of  a 
pure  affection,  cherished  long,  with  love 
and  tears,  and  at  last  bestowed  whole- 
heartedly upon  herself. 

Malvina  would  have  been  sure  to  find 
an  omen  of  ill  clinging  to  the  gift  of  the 
long-dead  bridegroom.  But  then,  Mal- 
vina hated  to  see  the  moon  over  her  left 
shoulder,  and  attributed  her  chronic 
rheumatism  to  a  careless  observance  of  the 
weighty  saying: 

**  See  a  pin  an'  pick  it  up, 

All  the  day  you'll  have  good  luck ; 

See  a  pin  an'  leave  it  lay. 

Bad  luck'll  follow  you  all  the  day." 

"  It's  the  han'somest  thing  I  ever  see  in 
all  my  life,"  declared  Miss  Bennett,  quite 
oblivious  of  the  fact  that  Philura  Rice 
heard  not  a  word  of  her  approving  com- 
ments. "  I'll  make  it  up  in  a  perfec'ly 
plain  princess.  It  don't  need  a  mite  o' 
trimmin'." 

[217] 


XV 

That  same  evening  the  Rev.  Silas  Petti- 
bone  sat  alone  in  his  study  There  was 
belated  work  to  be  done  on  the  Sunday 
sermons ;  but  for  once  the  minister's 
trained  mind  refused  to  obey  him.  He 
was  thinking  with  a  worried  frown  that 
this  was  the  Saturday  evening  he  had 
specified,  in  his  conversation  with  Elder 
Trimmer,  as  the  date  on  which  half  the 
amount  of  salary  due  must  be  paid.  He 
recalled  his  own  words  with  regret,  realis- 
ing that  he  had  acted  under  the  urge  of  a 
strong  and  unwonted  impulse.  At  the 
time  his  course  had  appeared  right  and 
proper;  but  more  than  once  since  he  had 
experienced  uncomfortable  qualms  of 
doubt. 

Should  he  be  compelled  to  take  the  mat- 
ter up  in  Presbyterial  conclave,  as  he  had 
distinctly  threatened   to   do,   what  would 
[218] 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

be  the  outcome  for  himself?  He  was  per- 
ilously near  the  "  dead  line,"  as  some 
zealous  advocate  of  the-young-man-in-the- 
pulpit  idea  has  termed  fifty  years.  What 
if  he  had  taken  the  bull  by  the  horns  only 
to  be  tossed  one  side  in  the  struggle. 
Should  he  lose  his  pulpit  in  Innisfield 
through  any  ill-advised  effort  to  collect  the 
arrears  in  his  salary,  could  he  —  with  his 
already  silvered  hair  —  obtain  another? 
And  if  he  could  not,  what  about  his  ap- 
proaching marriage  with  Miss  Philura? 

The  thought  of  her  warmed  his  chill 
heart  like  a  cordial.  How  beautiful  she 
had  looked  that  day,  all  glorified  as  she 
was  with  the  joys  of  service  to  others. 
Not  even  the  youthful  bride  (in  the  opin- 
ion of  the  minister)  could  compare  with 
her.  His  dismal  cogitations  gradually 
assumed  a  brighter  tone.  He  was  not  old, 
he  told  himself, —  even  at  forty-three  the 
"  dead  line  "  was  still  in  the  perspective. 
And  what,  after  all,  was  the  "  dead  line  "? 
[219] 


Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown 

He  gazed  steadily  at  the  hateful  phantom, 
compelling  its  shrouded  shape  to  shrink 
and  dwindle  into  a  kernel  of  wholesome 
truth.  A  man  —  and  by  a  man  Mr.  Pet- 
tibone  meant  a  preacher  —  A  man 
might  be  dull  and  platitudinous  at  twenty- 
five.  He  might  be  spiritually  ossified  at 
thirty ;  at  forty  he  might  even  be  turning 
his  barrel  once  a  twelve  month,  compelling 
his  congregation  to  subsist  solely  upon 
dry  as  dust  dogma,  gleaned  years  before 
from  commentaries  and  man-made  theolo- 
gies. While  at  fifty  he  miglit  be  alive, 
forceful,  panoplied  with  the  whole  armour 
of  God,  wielding  the  sword  of  the  spirit 
with  mighty  sinews.  Yes ;  this  was  the 
truth.  Avaunt,  foolish  spectre  of  the 
"  dead  line  " !  Never  again  should  it  tor- 
ment him. 

Through  the  silent  house  rang  a  sudden 

peal   of   the   door-bell.     After    a   discreet 

interval  he  heard  the  shuffling  step  of  his 

domestic  on  her  way  to  answer  it.     Then 

[220] 


Mzss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

followed  a  subdued  sound  of  voices.  Mr 
Pettibone  arose  and  opened  the  door  of 
his  study.  Abby  Stiles  sometimes  took  it 
upon  herself  to  debar  visitors  from  the 
ministerial  presence,  more  particularly  of 
a  Saturday  evening. 

On  this  occasion  Mr.  Pettibone  found 
himself  faced  with  a  solemn  delegation  of 
five  men.  And  for  an  instant  his  breath 
stopped,  while  his  heart  pounded  furi- 
ously. Then  with  outward  composure  he 
ushered  Elders  Trimmer,  Puffer  and  Swan, 
and  Deacons  Scrimger  and  Twombly  into 
his  study,  carefully  closing  the  door  be- 
hind them,  to  the  manifest  discomfiture  of 
Miss  Stiles,  who  scented  the  unusual  in 
this  nocturnal  visit. 

"  Ef  they've  come  t'  sass  him  —  as  is 
the  salt  of  the  earth,  if  ever  there  was 
salt  —  I've  got  my  opinion  of  'em,"  Miss 
Stiles  muttered  darkly,  as  she  withdrew  to 
her  kitchen.  "  An'  him  a-never  findin' 
fault  with  anythin'  since  the  day  I  come, 
[221] 


Miss  Fhilura's   Wedding  Gown 

an'  me  with  constant  bad  luck  with  my 
bread,  what  with  the  yeast  sourin'  on  me." 
Elder  Trimmer,  as  was  right  and 
proper,  began  the  conversation,  amid  a  tre- 
mendous clearing  of  throats  and  flourish 
of  Sabbath  handkerchiefs. 

" —  Er  —  we  called  this  evening  to  take 
up  that  little  matter  of  our  indebted- 
ness to  you,"  Mr  Trimmer  announced,  in 
his  best  prayer-meeting  tone.  "  The 
Lord  has  been  pleased  to  crown  our  eff*orts 
with  a  goodly  measure  of  success." 

He  paused  dramatically,  and  again  the 
assembled  dignitaries  broke  into  what 
might  be  termed  pious  coughing,  a  dis- 
tinct variety  of  bronchial  weakness  pecul- 
iar to  the  sanctuary. 

"  A  goodly  measure  of  success,"  re- 
peated Mr.  Trimmer  oratorically.  "  It 
—  er  — in  short  occurred  to  some  of  us  » 
that  at  this  time  of  the  year  when  peace 
on  earth,  good  will  to  men  ought  to  pre- 
vail,   we  —  er  —  should    not    permit    any 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Goivn 

laxity,  as  it  were,  on  the  walls  of  Zion. 
We  have  therefore  put  our  hands  to  the 
plough  and  as  a  result  I  have  the  dis- 
tinguished pleasure  of  handing  you  the 
whole  amount  due  you  to  date  and  —  er  — 
a  little  reminder  of  our  affection  for  our 
pastor  in  addition.  It  is  —  er  —  in  the 
form  of  a  check  on  our  local  bank." 

Mr.  Pettibone  received  the  envelope, 
which  Mr  Trimmer  tendered  him,  with  a 
stately  inclination  of  the  head.  He  had 
been  revolving  some  dignified  sentences,  re- 
lating to  his  personal  sense  of  gratitude 
to  Deit}^  that  his  church  had  been  blessed 
in  this  as  in  other  particulars.  But 
when  he  tried  to  utter  these  appropriate 
platitudes  his  voice  quite  unexepectedly 
failed  him,  and  he  grasped  the  hands  out- 
stretched to  meet  his  from  all  sides,  with- 
out a  word. 

It  was  Deacon  Scrimger  who  finally 
voiced  the  general  feeling,  when  he  said  itt 
his  high  nasal  tones : 


Miss  Philura's   Wedding  Gown 

"  You  ain't  no  better  pleased  t'  git  it 
an'  we  be  t'  give  it,  dominie.  I  guess  we 
was  gettin'  kind  o'  dead  in  trespasses  an' 
sins;  but  you  roused  us  up  jest  in  time. 
Praise  the  Lord !  " 

So  once  again  was  a  mountain  removed 
and  cast  into  the  sea,  by  that  potent  in- 
strumentality known  as  faith,  this  time, 
assuredly,  of  the  mustard  seed  variety. 


[224] 


XVI 

It  was   exactly  two  weeks   from  the  fol- 
lowing  Thursday  when  The  Ladies'  Aid 
and  Missionary  Society  met  at  the  par- 
sonage for  the  purpose  of  sewing  a  new 
carpet  for  the  pastor's  study.     Painters 
and  paper-hangers  had  been   at  work  in 
the  house   during  the   minister's   absence, 
and  the  dingy  rooms  had  taken  on  a  look 
of  brightness  and  cleanhness  pleasing  to 
the  eye.     Abby  Stiles,  her  head   swathed 
in  a  towel  against  dust  and  draughts,  was 
busy  putting  things  to  rights,  in  view  of 
the  home-coming  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Petti- 
bone. 

"Yes,  Mis'  Buckthorn,"  stated  Miss 
Stiles,  "  I'm  goin'  t'  stay  right  on  —  for  a 
spell,  anyhow,  till  she  gets  kind  o'  broke 
t'  harness." 

Mrs.   Buckthorn  paused   in  the   act   of 
unrolling  the  long  breadths  of  carpet  to 
[225] 


Mdss  Pkilura's  Wedding  Gown 

gaze  darkly  at  Electa  Pratt,  who  was  as- 
sisting her. 

"  A  hired  girl ! "  this  excellent  lady 
murmured.  "  Well,  I  never !  I  shouldn't 
think  Mr.  Pettibone  could  afford  it, 
especially  now  that  he's  married." 

Miss  Pratt  giggled  girlishly. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  he  c'n  afford  most  any- 
thin'  now,"  was  her  opinion.  "  All  Phi- 
lura  has  t'  do  is  '  t'  hold  the  thought.'  " 

"  If  that  ain't  unchristian,"  opined  Mrs. 
Buckthorn,  "  I  don't  know  what  is !  I 
guess  the  Lord  of  Hosts  knows  what  is 
good  for  Philura  Rice  without  any  of  her 
meddling." 

Mrs.  Puffer,  a  softly  round  and  rosy 
matron,  approached  with  a  skein  of  car- 
pet thread. 

"  My,  wasn't  she  lovely !  I  never  saw 
such  a  sweet  dress." 

"  Satin  as  thick  as  cream,"  chimed  in 
Sadie  Buckthorn,  waxing  a  length  of 
thread  vigorously.  y 

[226] 


Miss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

Sadie  Buckthorn  was  slim  and  rosy  and 
eighteen;  her  brown  eyes  sparkled  de- 
fiantly as  she  spoke. 

"  I  think  Miss  Philura  is  just  perfectly 
sweet !  "  she  declared.  "  But  I  never  can 
get  used  to  calling  her  Mrs.  Pettibone." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  see  none  of  it,"  sighed 
a  sallow-faced  woman  in  a  black  dress. 
"  I  couldn't  get  out  no-how  Thanksgivin' 
Day.  My  husban'  's  mother  was  visiting 
us,  an'  she  was  took  with  one  of  her  spells 
just  as  I  was  putting  on  my  rubbers  t'  go. 
It  was  just  my  luck." 

Mrs.  Salter  sighed  heavily  as  she  spoke ; 
her  "luck,"  as  she  called  it,  always  ap- 
peared to  intervene  between  herself  and 
any  cherished  purpose. 

"  But  of  course  you've  heard  all  about 
it;  haven't  you.?  "  asked  Mrs.  Puffer. 
Mrs.  Salter  shook  her  head  sadly. 
"  The'  ain't  a  soul  been  near  me  since 
t'  tell  me  anything.     As  I  said  t'  mother 
Salter  this  morning,  '  If  I  don't  break  my 
[227] 


Miss  Pkdlura's  Wedding  Gown 

leg  on  the  ice  this  afternoon,'  I  says^ 
*  mebbe  I'll  get  out  t'  th'  Ladies'  Aid  and 
hear  the  news.'  An'  I  did  come  near  slip- 
pin'  down  right  in  front  o'  th'  house.  I'm 
always  so  unlucky." 

"  I'll  tell  you  about  the  wedding,"  vol- 
unteered  Sadie  Buckthorn  eagerly. 

She  glanced  about  the  circle  of  indus- 
trious women  with  an  imperious  toss  of 
her  dark  head. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  she  began,  "  the 
church  was  full  —  even  the  gallery.  And 
it  looked  dandy ;  the  Helping  Hand  Circle 
had  trimmed  it  with  evergreen,  and  right 
down  in  front  of  the  pulpit  was  a  big  gilt 
horn  of  plenty  full  of  all  sorts  of  fruit  and 
vegetables." 

"  Oh,  was  that  what  it  was  meant  for," 
put  in  Miss  Pratt,  with  sly  malice ;  "  I 
couldn't  imagine ;  I  thought  perhaps  it 
was  another  collection  for  the  pastor." 

The  girl  reached  for  more  thread.  She 
longed  to  say  something  sharp  and  clever 
[228] 


Miss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

and  scathing;  but  at  the  moment  she 
could  think  of  nothing;  so  she  merely 
tilted  up  her  pink  chin  aggressively  at 
Miss  Pratt. 

.  "  It  was  a  horn  of  plenty !  "  she  said 
positively,  "  whether  you  or  anybody  else 
recognised  it.  It  —  it  means  abundance 
—  plenty  of  everything  good  and  rich  and 


nice!" 


"  I'm  sure  we  all  hope  they'll  be 
blessed,"  observed  Mrs.  Salter  plaintively. 
Whereat  two  or  three  of  the  older  women 
wiped  their  eyes. 

"  There  was  plenty  of  sermon,  any- 
'way,"  pursued  the  lively  Miss  Buckthorn. 
"  The  minister  from  Newton  preached ;  we 
girls  thought  he'd  never  stop !  " 

"  Daughter  !  "  intoned  Mrs.  Buckthorn 
majestically,  wagging  a  warning  finger. 

"  Well,  it  was  —  awfully  long,  and  Miss 
Philura  sitting  there  in  the  pew  all  that 
while,  waiting !  " 

"  Did  you  notice  the  cloak  she  had  on?  " 
[229] 


Miss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

asked  Mrs.   Scrimger,  from  the  opposite 
side  of  the  room. 

A  babel  of  tongues  uprose,  and  the 
anxious  Mrs.  Salter  gathered  with  diffi- 
culty that  Miss  Philura's  bridal  gown  had 
been  concealed  from  the  view  of  the  con- 
gregation, "  till  the  last  minute,"  by  a 
sumptuous  fur-lined  garment. 

It  was  Miss  Bennett,  who  had  just  en- 
tered, who  added  authoritatively  that  the 
cloak  in  question  was  the  gift  of  "  Gene- 
vieve's pa-an'-ma-in-law  from  Boston  an' 
cost  a  hunderd  dollars,  if  it  cost  a  cent." 

The  little  dress-maker  had  of  a  sudden 
become  a  person  of  distinction  in  Innis- 
iield.  From  the  pinnacle  of  her  greatness 
she  cast  a  look  of  complacent  superiority 
about  the  circle  of  workers. 

"  You're  a-puckerin'  that  there  seam, 
Mis'  Puffer,"  she  observed  rebukingly. 
"  Here,  you  jes'  let  me  take  a-holt." 

Nobody  even  glanced  in  the  direction  of 
[230] 


Miss  Pkilura's  Wedding  Gown 
Sadie  Buckthorn,  who  was  humming  the 
immortal   strains    of   the   wedding  march 
from  Lohengrin. 

"  I  c'n  jes'  tell  you  ladies  my  heart  was 
in  my  mouth  when  they  come  t'  stan'  up 
t'  be  married,"  declared  Miss  Malvina. 

"  Thinks  s'  I,  if  that  there  waist  wrin- 
kles in  the  back  I'll  feel  like  shuttin'  up  m' 
shop  fer  good  an'  all." 

She  paused,  a  dangling  length  of  car- 
pet thread  in  one  hand,  the  better  to 
enjoy  the  unwonted  sensation  of  being 
the  observed  oi  all  observers. 

"  'Tain't  no  easy  job  t'  make  a  real 
good  heavy  piece  of  satin  lay  jest  so. 
But  land!  I  needn't  'a'  worried.  It  fit- 
ted her  like  a  duck's  foot  in  the  mud ! " 

There  was  quiet  in  the  room  for  a  fuli 
minute  after  Miss  Bennett's  last  remark, 
while  flashing  needles  flew  in  and  out,  and 
the  soft  staccato  phrases  of  the  wedding 
march  roused  a  reminiscent  tenderness  in 
each  matronly  breast. 
[231] 


Miss  Fhilura's  Wedding  Gown 

Then  Sadie  Buckthorn  spoke  softly,  as 
if  still  gazing  at  a  never-to-be-forgotten 
vision  of  exquisite  happiness. 

"  Miss  Philura's  wedding  gown  was  like 
her,"  she  said ;  "  and  she  seemed  like  —  a 
lovely  angel,  just  dressed  for  heaven." 

"Daughter!"  murmured  Mrs.  Buck- 
thorn, with  a  pious  upward  glance. 


[232] 


And  So  They  Were  Married 


COPTRIGHT,    1908 

By  THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPAN^ 

CoPTRIGHt,    lyv^ 

By  FLORENCE  MORSE  KINGSLEY 
Publiehed,  September,  1908 


,:^''-i?iz.'- 


"  'It  isn't  your  husband's  place  to  do  your  work 
and  his  own,  too,  my  dear'  "    (p.   126) 


CHAPTER   I 


Dr.  North's  wife,  attired  in  her  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers,  noiselessly  tilted  the  shut- 
ter   of    the    old-fashioned    inside    blind    and 
peered  cautiously  out.    The  moon  was  shining 
splendidly  in  the  dark  sky,  and  the  empty 
street  seemed  almost  as  light  as  day.     It  had 
been   snowing   earlier   in   the   evening,   Mrs. 
North    observed    absent-mindedly,    and    the 
clinging  drifts  weighed  the  dark  evergreens 
on  either  side  of  the  gate  almost  to  the  ground. 
A  dog  barked  noisily  from  his  kennel  in   a 
neighbouring  yard,  and  a  chorus  of  answering 
barks  acknowledged  the  signal;  some  one  was 
coming  along  the  moonlit  street.    There  were 
two  figures,  as  Mrs.  North  had  expected;  she 
craned  her  plump  neck  anxiously  forward  as 
the  gate   clicked  and  a  light   girlish  laugh 
floated  up  on  the  frosty  air. 

"Dear,     dear!"      she     murmured,     "I     do 
hope  Bessie  will  come  right  into  the  house. 

1 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE   MARRIED 

It     is     too     cold     to     stand     outside     talk- 
-ing." 

Apparently  the  young  persons  below  did  not 
think  so.  They  stood  in  the  bright  moonlight 
in  full  view  of  the  anxious  watcher  behind  the 
shutter,  the  man's  tall  figure  bent  eagerly 
toward  the  girl,  whose  delicate  profile  j\Irs. 
North  could  see  distinctly  under  the  coquet- 
tish sweep  of  the  broad  hat -brim. 

"The  child  ought  to  have  worn  her  high 
overshoes,"  she  was  thinking,  when  she  was 
startled  by  the  vision  of  the  tall,  broad  figure 
stooping  over  the  short,  slight  one. 

Then  the  key  clicked  in  the  lock  and  the 
front  door  opened  softly ;  the  sound  was  echoed 
by  the  closing  gate,  as  the  tall  figure  tramped 
briskly  away  over  the  creaking  snow.  The 
neighbour's  dog  barked  again,  perfunctorily 
this  time,  as  if  acknowledging  the  entire 
respectability  of  the  passer-by;  all  the 
other  dogs  in  town  responded  in  kind, 
and  again  there  was  silence  broken  only 
by  the  sound  of  a  light  foot  on  the  car- 
peted stair. 

2 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

Mrs.  North  opened  her  door  softly.  "Is 
that  you,  Bessie.'^" 

"Yes,  mother." 

"Isn't  it  very  late,  child?" 

"It  is  only  half  past  eleven." 

"Did  Louise  go  with  you?" 

"No,  mother ;  she  had  a  sore  throat,  and  it 
was  snowing ;  so  her  aunt  wouldn't  allow  her 
to  go." 

"Oh !"  Mrs.  North's  voice  expressed  a  faint 
disapproval. 

"Of  course  we  couldn't  help  it ;  besides, all  the 
other  girls  were  there  just  with  their  escorts. 
You  and  grandma  are  so — old-fashioned.  I'm 
sure  I  don't  see  why  I  always  have  to  have 
some  other  girl  along — and  Louise  Glenny  of 
all  persons  !  I  couldn't  help  being  just  a  little 
bit  glad  that  she  couldn't  go." 

"Did  you  have  a  nice  time,  dear?" 

The  girl  turned  a  radiant  face  upon  her 
mother.  "Oh,  we  had  a  lovely  time !"  she 
murmured.  "I — I'll  tell  you  about  it  to-mor- 
row.    Is  father  home?" 

"Yes ;  he  came  in  early  to-night  and  went 

S 


AND   SO   THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

right  to  bed.     I  hope  the  telephone  bell  won't 
ring  again  before  morning." 

The  girl  laughed  softly.  "You  might  take 
off  the  receiver,"  she  suggested.  "Poor 
daddy !" 

"Oh,  no;  I  couldn't  do  that.  Your  father 
would  never  forgive  me.  But  I  told  him  not 
to  have  it  on  his  mind;  I'll  watch  out  for  it 
and  answer  it,  and  if  it's  Mrs.  Salter  a^ain 
with  one  of  her  imaginary  sinking  spells  I'm 
going  to  tell  her  the  doctor  won't  be  in  before 
six  in  the  morning.  I  do  hope  it  isn't  wrong 
to  deceive  that  much;  but  your  father  isn't 
made  of  iron,  whatever  some  people  may  think." 

The  girl  laughed  again,  a  low  murmur  of 
joy.  "Good-night,  dear  little  mother,"  she 
said  caressingly.  "You  are  always  watching 
and  waiting  for  some  one;  aren't  you.?  But 
you  needn't  have  worried  about  w^."  She 
stooped  and  kissed  her  mother,  her  eyes  shin- 
ing like  stars ;  then  hurried  away  to  hide  the 
blush  which  swept  her  face  and  neck. 

"Dear,  dear!"  sighed  Mrs.  North,  as  she 
crept  back  to  her  couch  drawn  close  to  the 

4 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIEL* 

muffled  telephone,  "I  suppose  I  ought  to  have 
spoken  to  her  father  before  this ;  but  he  is  al- 
ways so  busy ;  I  hardly  have  time  to  say  two 
words  to  him.  Besides,  he  thinks  Bessie  is  only 
a  child,  and  he  would  have  laughed  at  me." 

The  girl  was  taking  off  her  hat  and  cloak  in 
her  own  room.  How  long  ago  it  seemed  since 
she  had  put  them  on.  She  smoothed  out  her 
white  gloves  with  caressing  fingers.  ''I  shall 
always  keep  them,"  she  thought.  She  was 
still  conscious  of  his  first  kisses,  and  looked 
in  her  glass,  as  if  half  expecting  to  see  some 
visible  token  of  them. 

"I  am  so  happy — so  happy  1"  she  murmured 
to  the  radiant  reflection  which  smiled  back  at 
her  from  out  its  shadowy  depths.  She  leaned 
forward  and  touched  the  cold  smooth  surface 
with  her  lips  in  a  sudden  passion  of  gratitude 
for  the  fair,  richly  tinted  skin,  the  large 
bright  eyes  with  their  long  curling  lashes,  the 
masses  of  brown  waving  hair,  and  the  phant 
beauty  of  the  strong  young  figure  in  the  mir- 


ror. 


"If  I  had  been  freckled  and  stoop-shouldered 

5 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

and  awkward,  like  Louise  Glenny,  he  couldn*f 
have  loved  me,"  she  was  thinking. 

She  sank  to  her  knees  after  awhile  and  buried 
her  face  in  the  coverlid  of  her  little  bed.  But 
;she  could  think  only  of  the  look  in  his  eyes 
when  he  had  said  "I  love  you,"  and  of  the 
thrilling  touch  of  his  lips  on  hers.  She  crept 
into  bed  and  lay  there  in  a  wide-eyed  rapture, 
while  the  village  clock  struck  one,  and  after 
a  long,  blissful  hour,  two.  Then  she  fell  asleep, 
and  did  not  hear  the  telephone  bell  which 
called  her  tired  father  from  his  bed  in  the  dim, 
cold  hour  between  three  and  four. 

She  was  still  rosily  asleep  and  dreaming 
when  Mrs.  North  came  softly  into  the  room 
in  the  broad  sunhght  of  the  winter  morning. 

"Isn't  Lizzie  awake  yet?"  inquired  a  brisk 
voice  from  the  hall.  "My,  viy!  but  girls  are 
idle  creatures  nowadays !" 

The  owner  of  the  voice  followed  this  dictum 
with  a  quick  patter  of  softly  shod  feet. 

"I  didn't  like  to  call  her,  mother,"  apologised 
Mrs.  North.     "She  came  in  late,  and " 

Grandmother  Carroll  pursed  up  her  small, 

6 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

-wise  mouth.  "I  heard  her,"  she  said,  "and  that 
young  man  with  her.  I  don't  know,  daughter, 
but  what  we  ought  to  inquire  into  his  pros- 
pects and  character  a  Httle  more  carefully,  if 
*he's  to  be  allowed  to  come  here  so  constant. 
Lizzie's  very  young,  and " 

"Oh,  grandma!"  protested  a  drowsy  voice 
from  the  pillows  ;  "I'm  twenty  !" 

"Twenty;   yes,   I  know   you're  twenty,  my 
dear ;  quite  old  enough,  I  should  say,  to  be  out 
"  of  bed  before  nine  in  the  morning." 

"It  wasn't  her  fault,  mother;  I  didn't  call 
her." 

The  girl  was  gazing  at  the  two  round  ma- 
tronly figures  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  her  laugh- 
ing eyes  grown  suddenly  serious.  "I'll  get  up 
at  once,"  she  said  with  decision,  "and  I'll  eat 
bread  and  milk  for  breakfast ;  I  sha'n't  mind." 

"She's  got  something  on  her  mind,"  whis- 
pered Mrs.  North  to  her  mother,  as  the  two 
pattered  softly  downstairs. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  responded  Grand- 
mother Carroll  briskly.  "Girls  of  her  age  are 
pretty  likely  to  have,  and  I  mistrust  but  what 

7 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

that  young  Bowser  may  have  been  putting 
notions  into  her  head.  I  hope  you'll  be  firm 
with  her,  daughter ;  she's  much  too  young  for 
anything  of  that  sort." 

"You  were  married  when  you  were  eighteen, 
mother ;  and  I  was  barely  twenty,  you  know." 

"I  was  a  very  different  girl  at  eighteen  from 
what  Lizzie  is,"  Mrs.  Carroll  said  warmly. 
"She's  been  brought  up  differently.  In  my 
time  healthy  girls  didn't  lie  in  bed  till  ten 
o'clock.  ]\Iany  and  many's  the  time  I've 
danced  till  twelve  o'clock  and  been  up  in  the 
morning  at  five  'tending  to  my  w^ork.  You 
indulge  Lizzie  too  much ;  and  if  that  young 
Bixlcr " 

"His  name  is  Brewster,  mother;  don't  you  re- 
member.'' and  they  say  he  comes  of  a  fine  old 
Boston  family." 

"Well,  Brewster  o?"  Bixler ;  it  will  make  no 
difference  to  Lizzie,  you'll  find.  I've  been  watch- 
ing her  for  more  than  a  month  back,  and  I'll 
tell  you,  daughter,  when  a  girl  like  Lizzie  of- 
fers to  eat  bread  and  milk  for  breakfast  you 
can  expect  almost  anything.     Her  mind  is  on 

8 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

other  things.  I'll  never  forget  the  way  you 
ate  a  boiled  egg  for  breakfast  every  morning 
for  a  week— and  you  couldn't  bear  eggs— 
about  the  time  the  doctor  was  getting  serious 
I  mistrusted  there  was  something  to  pay,  and  1 
wasn't  mistaken."  ^ 

Mrs.  North  sighed  vaguely.  Then  her  tired 
brown  eves  hghted  up  with  a  smile.  "I^had 
letters  from  both  the  boys  this  mornmg,  she 
said-  "don't  you  want  to  read  them,  mother? 
Frank  has  passed  all  his  mid-year  examina- 
tions, and  EUiot  says  he  has  just  made  the 
'varsity  gym'  team." 
"Made  the  what?'' 

"I  don't  quite  understand  myself,"  acknowl^ 
edged  Mrs.  North ;  "but  that's  what  he  said. 
He  said  he'd  have  his  numerals  to  show  us 
when  he  came  home  Easter. 

"Hum I"  murmured  Mrs.  Carroll  dubiously; 
"I'm  sure  I  hope  he  won't  break  his  neck  m 
any  foolish  way.    Did  he  say  anything  about 

his  lessons?" 

"Not  much;  he  never  was  such^a  student  a& 
Frank ;  but  he'll  do  well,  mother." 

9 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

Elizabeth  North,  fresh  as  a  dewy  rose  and 
radiant  with  her  new  happiness,  came  into  the 
room  just  as  Mrs.  Carroll  folded  the  last  sheet 
of  the  college  letters.  "I'll  ask  Lizzie,"  she 
said.    "Lizzie,  what  is  a  g-y-m  team  ?" 

"Oh,  grandma!"  protested  the  girl,  ^'please 
don't  call  me  Lizzie.  Bessie  is  bad  enough; 
but  Lizzie!  I  always  think  of  that  absurd  old 
Mother  Goose  rhyme,  'Elizabeth,  Lizzie,  Bet- 
sey and  Bess,  all  went  hunting  to  find  a  bird's 
nest' ;  and,,  besides,  you  promised  me  you 
wouldn't." 

"Lizzie  was  a  good  enough  name  for  your 
mother,"  said  grandma  briskly.  "Your  father 
courted  and  married  her  under  that  name,  and 
he  didn't  mind."  Her  keen  old  eyes  behind 
their  shining  glasses  dwelt  triumphantly  on 
the  girl's  changing  colour.  "You  needn't  tell 
meP^  she  finished  irrelevantly. 

But  Elizabeth  had  possessed  herself  of  the 
letters,  and  was  already  deep  in  a  laughing 
perusal  of  Elliot's  scrawl.  "Oh,  how  splen- 
did !"  she  cried ;  "he's  made  the  'varsity,  on  his 
ring  work,  too !" 

10 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE   MARRIED 

"I  don't  pretend  to  understand  what  particu-^ 
lar  work  Elliot  is  referring  to,"  obser\-ed 
grandma,  with  studied  mildness.  "Is  it  some 
sort  of  mathematics?" 

Elizabeth  sprang  up  and  flung  both  arms 
about  the  smiling  old  lady.  "You  dear  little 
hypocritical  grandma !"  she  said ;  "you  know 
perfectly  well  that  it  isn't  any  study  at  all, 
but  just  gymnastic  work — all  sorts  of  stunts, 
swinging  on  rings  and  doing  back  and  front 
leA-ers  and  shoulder  stands  and  all  that  sort 
of  thino-,  Elliot  has  such  magnificent 
muscles  he  can  do  anything,  and  better  than 
any  one  else,  and  that's  why  he's  on  the  'var- 
sity, you  see !" 

"Thank  you,  Elizabeth,"  said  grandma  tran- 
quilly. "I'd  entirely  forgotten  that  young 
men  don't  go  to  college  now  to  study  their  les- 
sons.   My  memory  is  certainly  getting  poor." 

"No,  crrandma  dear :  it  isn't.  You  remember 
everything  a  thousand  times  better  than  any 
one  else,  and  what  is  more,  you  know  it.  But 
of  course  Elhot  studies  ;  he  has  to.  Mr.  Brew- 
ster says  he  thinks  Elliot  is  one  of  the  finest 

11 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

boys  he  knows.  He  thinks  he  would  make  a 
splendid  engineer.  He  admires  Frank,  too, 
immensely,  and " 

''What  does  the  young  man  think  of  Eliza- 
beth?" asked  Mrs.  Carroll  with  a  wise  smile. 

"He — oh,  grandma;  I — didn't  mean  to  tell 
just  yet;  but  he — I " 

"There,  there,  child!  Better  go  and  find 
your  mother.  I  mistrust  she's  getting  you  a 
hot  breakfast."  She  drew  the  girl  into  her 
soft  old  arms  and  kissed  her  twice. 

Elizabeth  sprang  up  all  in  a  lovely  flame  of 
blushes  and  ran  out  of  the  room. 


!2 


CHAPTER  II 

When  Samuel  Herrick  Brewster,  B.S.  and  Civil 
Engineer,  late  of  the  Massachusetts  School 
of  Technolog}^,  came  to  Innisfield  for  the  pur- 
pose of  joining  the  corps  of  engineers  already 
at  work  on  a  new  and  improved  system  of 
water-works,  he  had  not  the  slightest  intention 
of  falling  seriously  in  love.  By  "seriously" 
Sam  Brewster  himself  might  have  told  you — 
as  he  told  his  married  sister  living  in  Sag- 
inaw, Mich.,  and  anxiously  solicitous  of  the 
young  man's  general  well-being — that  he 
meant  that  sort  and  quality  of  affection  which 
would  naturally  and  inevitably  lead  a  man  in- 
to matrimony.  He  had  always  been  fond  of 
the  society  of  pretty  and  amiable  women,  and 
well  used  to  it,  too.  His  further  ideas  with 
regard  to  matrimony,  though  delightfully 
vague  in  their  general  character,  were  suf- 
ficiently clear-cut  and  decided  in  one  impor- 
tant particular,  which  he  had  been  careful  to 

13 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

C?     ^ 

expound  at  length  to  those  impetuous  under-, 
graduates  of  his  fraternity  who  had  appeared 
to  need  friendly  counsel  from  their  elders.  "A 
man,"  said  young  Brewster,  conclusively, 
"has  no  business  to  marry  till  he  can  feel  solid 
ground  under  his  feet.  He  should  be  thor- 
oughly established  in  his  profession,  and  well 
able  to  pay  the  shot." 

When  this  sapient  young  gentleman  first  met 
Elizabeth  North  at  a  picnic  given  by  the  lead- 
ing citizens  of  Innisfield  to  celebrate  the  com- 
pletion of  the  new  aqueduct  he  was  disposed 
to  regard  her  as  a  very  nice,  intelligent  sort  of 
a  girl,  with  remarkably  handsome  brown  eyes. 
On  the  occasion  of  his  third  meeting;  with  the 
young  lady  he  found  himself,  rather  to  his 
surprise,  telling  her  about  his  successful  work 
in  the  "Tech,"  and  of  how  he  hoped  to  "get 
somewhere"  in  his  profession  some  day. 
Elizabeth  in  her  turn  had  confided  to  him  her 
disappointment  in  not  being  able  to  go  to 
Wellesley,  and  her  ambitious  attempts  to  keep 
up  with  Marian  Evans,  who  was  in  the  Sopho- 
more year,  in  literature  and  music.  She  played 

14 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

^     C? 

Chopin's  Fantasia  Impromptu  for  him  on 
Mrs.  North's  garrulous  old  piano ;  and  as  her 
slender  fingers  twinkled  over  the  yellow  keys 
he  caught  himself  wondering  how  much  a 
first-class  instrument  would  cost.  In  the 
course  of  a  month  he  had  fallen  into  the  habit 
of  strolling  home  with  Elizabeth  after  church, 
and  twice  Mrs.  North,  in  the  kindness  of  her 
motherly  heart,  had  asked  him  to  dinner.  She 
was  afraid,  she  told  Grandma  Carroll,  that  the 
table  board  at  Mrs.  Bentwick's  was  none  of 
the  best.  She  spoke  of  him  further  as  "that 
nice,  good-looking  boy,"  and  hoped  he 
wouldn't  be  too  lonely  in  Innisfield,  away 
from  all  his  friends. 

As  for  Dr.  North,  that  overworked  physician 
was  seldom  to  be  seen,  being  apparently  in  a 
chronic  state  of  hastily  and  energetically 
climbing  into  his  gig,  and  as  energetically  and 
hastily  climbing  out  again.  He  had  hurriedly 
shaken  hands  with  young  Brewster,  and  made 
him  welcome  to  his  house  in  one  of  the  brief 
intervals  between  office  hours  and  the  ever- 
waiting   gig,   with   its   imperturbable  brown 

15 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

horse,  who  appeared  to  know  quite  as  well  as 
the  doctor  where  the  sick  were  to  be  found. 
After  that,  it  is  fair  to  state,  the  worthy  doc- 
tor had  completely  forgotten  that  such  a  per- 
son as  Samuel  Herrick  Brewster,  B.S.,  C.E. 
existed.  One  may  judge  therefore  of  his  feel- 
ings when  his  wife  chose  a  moment  of  relaxa- 
tion between  a  carefully  cooked  dinner  and  an 
expected  summons  by  telephone  to  acquaint 
him  with  the  fact  of  their  daughter's  engage- 
ment. 

'^Engagedf^  exclaimed  the  doctor,  starting 
out  of  his  chair.  "Bess — engaged!  Oh,  I 
guess  not.  I  sha'n't  allow  anything  of  the 
sort ;  she's  nothing  but  a  child,  and  as  for  this 
young  fellow — what  'd  you  say  his  name  was  ? 
We  don't  know  him !" 

"You  don't,  you  mean,  papa,"  his  wife  cor- 
rected him  gently.  "The  rest  of  us  have  seen 
a  good  deal  of  Mr.  Brewster,  and  I'm  sure 
Bessie " 

"Now,  mother,  what  made  you?  I  wanted  to 
tell  daddy  myself.  Oh,  daddy,  he's  the  dear- 
est person  in  the  world!"     Then   as   Eliza- 

16 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

beth  caught  the  hurt,  bewildered  look  in  her 
father's  eyes  she  perched  on  his  knee  in  the 
old  familiar  fashion.  "It  seems  sudden— to 
you,  I  know,"  she  murmured;  "but  really  it 
isn't,  daddy ;  as  he  will  tell  you  if  he  can  ever 
find  you  at  home  to  talk  to.  Why,  we've  known 
each  other  since  last  summer  I" 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  very  stupid,  child;  but  I 
don't  believe  I  understand.  You  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  that  you  have  been  thinking  of— of 
getting  married  and  to  a  man  I  don't  know 
even."  Dr.  North  shook  his  head  decidedly. 
"But  you  do  know  him,  daddy  ;  he's  been  here 
ever  so  many  times.  Of  course"— she  added 
with  a  touch  of  laughing  malice— "he's  per- 
fectly well,  and  you  seldom  notice  well  people, 
even  when  they're  in  your  own  family." 

"I  don't  have  time,  Bess,"  admitted  the  doc- 
tor soberly,  "there  are  too  many  of  the  other 
sort.  But  now  about  this  young  man— 
Brewster— eh?    You  have  him  come  'round  in 

office  hours,  say,  and  I'll " 

"Now,  daddy,  please  don't  straighten  out 
your  mouth  like  that ;  it  isn't  a  bit  becoming. 

17 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

Naturally  3^ou've  got  the  sweetest,  kindest 
look  in  the  world,  and  you  mustn't  spoil  it, 
especially  when  you  are  talking  about  Sam." 

The  doctor  pinched  his  daughter's  pink  ear. 
"I'm  sorry  to  appear  such  an  ogre,"  he  said 
with  a  touch  of  grimness,  "but  I  know  too 
much  about  the  world  in  general,  and  the  busi- 
ness of  getting  married  in  particular,  to  allow 
my  one  daughter  to  go  into  it  blindly.  I'll 
be  obliged  to  make  the  young  man's  further 
acquaintance,  Bess,  before  we  talk  about  an 
engagement." 

The  girl's  scarlet  lips  were  set  in  firm  lines, 
which  strongly  resembled  the  paternal  ex- 
pression to  which  she  had  objected;  she  kissed 
her  father  dutifully.  "I  want  you  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  him,  daddy,"  she  said  sweetly ; 
"but  we  are  engaged." 

That  same  afternoon  Dr.  North,  looking 
worried  and  anxious  after  a  prolonged  confer- 
ence with  the  village  hypochrondrlac,  who  had 
come  to  the  office  fully  charged  with  symp- 
toms of  a  new  and  distinguished  disease  lately 
imported  from  Europe,  found  himself  face  to 

18 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

face  with  a  tall,  fresh-faced  young  man.  Thi» 
new  visitor  came  into  the  office  bringing  with 
him  a  breath  of  the  wintry  air  and  a  general 
appearance  of  breezy  health  which  caused  the 
hypochondriac  to  look  up  sourly  in  the  act  of 
putting  on  her  rubbers. 

"If  that  new  medicine  doesn't  relieve  that 
terrible  feelin'  in  my  epigastrium,  doctor — an' 
I  don't  believe  it's  a-goin'  to — I'll  let  you 
know,"  she  remarked  acidly.  "You  needn't  be 
surprised  to  be  called  most  any  time  between 
now  an'  mornin' ;  for,  as  I  told  Mr.  Salter,  I 
ain't  a-goin'  to  suffer  as  I  did  last  night  for 
nobody." 

"Goo^-aftemoon,  Mrs.  Salter,"  said  the  doc- 
tor emphatically.  "Now  then,  young  man, 
what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

The  young  man  in  question  coloured  boy- 
ishly. "I  shouldn't  have  ventured  to  call  upon 
you  during  your  office  hours.  Dr.  North ;  but 
I  understood  from  Elizabeth  that  you  could  be 
seen  at  no  other  time ;  so  I'm  here." 

"Elizabeth — eh?  Yes,  yes;  I  see.  I — er — 
didn't  recall  your  face  for  the  moment.     Just 

19 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

come  into  my  private  office  for  a  minute  or 
two,  Mr.  Brewster;  these — er — other  patients 
will  wait  a  bit,  I  fancy." 

The  worthy  doctor  handed  his  visitor  a  chair 
facing  the  light,  which  he  further  increased  by 
impatiently  shoving  the  shades  to  the  top  of 
the  windows.  Then  he  seated  himself  and 
stared  keenly  at  the  young  engineer,  who  on 
his  part  bore  the  scrutiny  with  a  sturdy  self- 
possession  which  pleased  the  doctor  in  spite  of 
himself. 

"Elizabeth  told  you  of  our  engagement,  I 
believe,  sir?" 

"She  told  me  something  of  the  sort — yes," 
admitted  the  doctor  testily.  "I  said  to  her 
that  I  couldn't  and  wouldn't  consider  an  en- 
gagement between  you  at  present.  Did  she 
tell  you  that?" 

"I  was  told  that  you  wished  to  make  my  fur- 
ther acquaintance.  I  should  like,  if  you  have 
the  time,  to  tell  you  something  about  myself. 
You  have  the  right  to  know." 

The  doctor  nodded  f rowningly.  "If  you  ex- 
pect me — at  any  time  In  the  future,  you  un- 

20 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIEI7 

derstand — to  give  you  ray  only  daughter,  I 
certainly  am  entitled  to  know — everything." 
The  young  man  looked  the  doctor  squarely 
in  the  eyes  during  the  longish  pause  that  fol- 
lowed. "There  isn't  much  to  tell,"  he  said. 
"My  father  and  mother  are  dead.  I  have  one 
sister,  older  than  I,  married  to  one  of  the  best 
fellows  in  the  world  and  hving  West.  I  made 
my  home  with  them  till  I  came  to  the  Tech- 
You  can  ask  any  of  the  professors  there  about 
me.  They'll  tell  you  that  I  worked.  I  gradu- 
ated a  year  ago  last  June.  Since  then  I've  been 
at  work  at  my  profession.     I'm  getting  twelve 

hundred  a  year  now ;  but " 

"Stop  right  there.     Why  did  you  ask  my 
girl  to  marry  you.^" 
"Because  I  loved  her." 

"Hum  !  And  she — er — fancies  that  she  loves 
vou— eh.^" 

A  dark  flush  swept  over  Samuel  Brewster's 
ingenuous  young  face.  "She  does  love  me," was 
all  he  said.  But  he  said  it  in  a  tone  which 
suddenly  brought  back  the  older  man's  van- 
ished youth. 

21 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

There  was  a  short  silence;  then  the  doctor 
arose  so  abruptly  that  he  nearly  upset  his 
chair.  "TF^ZZ,"  he  said,  "I've  got  to  go  to 
J3oston  to-morrow  on  a  case,  and  I'll  see  those 
professors  of  yours,  for  one  thing ;  I  know 
Collins  well.  Not  that  he  or  anybody  else  can 
itell  me  all  about  you — not  by  a  long  shot ;  I 
know  boys  and  young  men  well  enough  for  that. 
But  you  see,  sir,  I — love  my  girl  too,  and  I 
— I'll  say  ^oocZ-afternoon,  sir." 

He  threw  the  door  wide  with  an  impatient 
hand.  "Ah,  Mrs.  Tewksbury ;  you're  next,  I 
/believe.     Walk  right  in." 

An  hour  later,  when  the  door  had  finally 
•closed  on  his  last  patient.  Dr.  North  sat  still 
in  his  chair,  apparently  lost  in  thought.  His 
dinner  was  waiting,  he  knew,  and  a  round  of 
visits  must  be  made  immediately  thereafter, 
yet  he  did  not  stir.  He  was  thinking,  curiously 
<?nough,  of  the  time  when  his  daughter  Eliza- 
beth was  a  baby.  What  a  round,  pink  little 
face  she  had,  to  be  sure,  and  what  a  strong, 
healthy,  plump  little  body.  He  could  almost 
hear  the  unsteady   feet  toddling   across   the 

22 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

breadth  of  dingy  oilcloth  which  carpeted  his 
office  floor.  "Daddy,  daddj^ !"  her  sweet,  im- 
perious voice  was  crying,  "I'm  tomin'  to  see 
you,  daddy  1" 

His  eyes  were  wet  when  he  finally  stumbled  to 
his  feet.  Then  suddenly  he  felt  a  pair  of  warm 
arms  about  his  neck,  and  a  dozen  butterfly 
kisses  dropped  on  his  cheeks,  his  hair,  his  fore- 
head. "Daddy,  dear,  he  came  ;  didn't  he  ?  I 
saw  him  go  away.  I  hope  you  weren't — cruel 
to  him,  oh,  daddy  !" 

"No.  daughter :  I  wasn't  exactly  cruel  to  him. 
But  didn't  the  young  man  stop  to  talk  it  over 
with  you?" 

"No,  daddy ;  I  thought  he  would  of  course ; 
but  he  just  waved  his  hand  for  good-bye,  and 
I — was  frightened  for  fear " 

"Didn't  stop  to  talk  it  over — eh?  Say,  I  like 
that !  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Bess,  I — rather 
like  him.  Good,  clear,  steady  eyes ;  good  all 
'round  constitution,  I  should  say ;  and  if — . 
Oh,  come,  come,  child ;  we'd  better  be  getting 
in  to  dinner  or  your  mother  will  be  anxious. 
But  I  want  you  to  understand,  miss,  that  your 

23 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

old  daddy  has  no  notion  of  playing  second 
fiddle  to  any  youngster's  first,  however  tall 
and  good-looking  he  may  be." 

And  singularly  enough,  Elizabeth  appeared 
to  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  this  paternal  dic- 
tum. "I  knew  you'd  like  him,"  she  said,  slip- 
ping her  small  hand  into  her  father's  big  one, 
in  the  little  girl  fashion  she  had  never  lost. 
"Why,  daddy,  he's  the  best  man  I  ever  knew 
— except  you,  of  course.  He  told  me" — the 
girl's  voice  dropped  to  an  awed  whisper — 
"that  he  promised  his  mother  when  she  was 
dying  that  he  would  never  do  a  mean  or 
dishonest  thing.  And — and  he  says,  daddy, 
that  whenever  he  has  been  tempted  to  do 
wrong  he  has  felt  his  mother's  eyes  look- 
ing at  him,  so  that  he  couldn't.  Any- 
body would  know  he  was  good  just  from  see- 
ing him." 

"Hum!  Well,  well,  that  may  be  so.  I'll  talk 
to  Collins  and  see  what  he  has  to  say.  Collins 
is  a  man  of  very  good  judgment;  I  value  his 
opinion  highly." 

"Don't  you  value  mine,  daddy  ?"  asked  Eliza- 

24f 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 


^     ^ 


beth,  with  an  irresistible  dimple  appearing  and 
disappearing  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth. 

"On  some  subjects,  my  dear,"  repHed  the  doc- 
tor soberly  ;  "but— er— on  this  particular  one 
I  fancy  you  may  be  slightly  prejudiced." 


25 


CHAPTER  III 

The  question  of  "wherewithal  shall  we  be 
clothed,"  which  has  vexed  the  world  since  its 
beginning  in  the  garden  "planted  eastward  in 
Eden,"  confronts  the  children  of  Eve  so  per- 
sistently at  every  serious  crisis  of  life  that  one 
is  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  clothes  sus- 
tain a  very  real  and  vital  relation  to  destiny. 
Even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  must  earnestly 
have  considered  the  colour  and  texture  of  his 
famous  robes  of  state  when  he  was  making 
ready  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba, 
and  the  Jewish  Esther's  royal  apparel  and 
Joseph's  coat  of  many  colours  played  impor- 
tant parts  in    the  history  of  a  nation. 

Elizabeth  North  had  been  engaged  to  be 
married  to  Samuel  Brewster  exactly  a  fort- 
night when  the  age-long  question  presented 
itself  to  her  attention.  It  was  perhaps  inevi- 
table that  she  should  have  thought  specula- 
tively of  her  wedding  gown ;  what  girl  would 

26 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

not?  But  in  the  sweet  amaze  of  her  new  and 
surprising  happiness  she  might  have  gone  on 
wearing  her  simple  girhsh  frocks  quite- 
unaware  of  its  relation  to  her  wardrobe- 
She   owed   her   awakening   to   Miss    Evelyn 

Tripp. 

Elizabeth  had  known  Evelyn  Tripp  in  a  dis- 
tant fashion  suited  to  the  great  gulf  which 
appeared  to  exist  between  the  fashionable  lady 
from  Boston,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  paying 
semi-annual  visits  to  Innisfield,  and  the  young: 
daughter   of  the   country   doctor.      She   had- 
always  regarded  Miss  Tripp  as  the  epitome  of 
all  possible  elegance,  and  vaguely  associated 
her  with  undreamed-of  festivities  and  privi- 
leges peculiar  to  the  remote  circles  in  which 
she  moved  when  absent  from  Innisfield. 

Miss  Tripp  explained  her  presence  in  the 
quiet  village  after  one  formula  which  had 
grown  familiar  to  every  one.  "I  was  com- 
pletely worn  out,  my  dear ;  I've  just  run  away 
from  a  perfect  whirl  of  receptions,  teas, 
luncheons  and  musicales ;  really,  I  was  on  the 
verge  of  a  nervous  breakdown  when  my  phy- 

27 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

-sician  simply  insisted  upon  my  leaving  it  alL 
I  do  find  dear,  quiet  Innisfield  so  relaxing 
after  the  social  strain." 

Miss  Tripp's  heavily  italicised  remarks  were 
invariably  accompanied  by  uplifted  eyebrows, 
and  a  sweetly  serious  expression,  alternating 
with  flashing  glimpses  of  very  white  teeth, 
and  further  accented  by  numberless  little  move- 
ments of  her  hands  and  shoulders  which  sug- 
gested deeper  meanings  than  her  words  often 
conveyed. 

Ill-natured  people,  such  as  Mrs.  Buckthorn 
and  Electa  Pratt,  declared  that  Evelyn  Tripp 
was  thirty-five  if  she  was  a  day,  though  she 
dressed  like  sixteen ;  and  furthermore  that  her 
social  popularity  in  Boston  was  a  figment  of 
her  own  vivid  imagination.  Elizabeth  North, 
however,  had  always  admired  her  almost  rever- 
ently, in  the  shy,  distant  fashion  of  the  young, 
countrybred  girl. 

Miss  Tripp  was  unquestionably  elegant,  and 
her  smart  gowns  and  the  large  picture  hats 
she  affected  had  created  quite  their  usual  sen- 
sation in  Innisfield,  where  the  slow-spreading 

28 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

ripples  of  fashion  were  viewed  with  a  certain 
stern  disfavour  as  being  linked  in  some  vague 
manner  with  irreligion  of  a  dangerous  sort. 
"She's  too  stylish  to  be  good  for  much,"  be- 
ing the  excellent  ^Mrs.  Buckthorn's  severe  cor- 
ollary- 
Miss  Tripp  had  been  among  the  first  to  press 
friendly  congratulations  upon  young  Brew- 
ster, who  on  his  part  received  them  with  the 
encraffino-  awkwardness  of  the  unaccustomed 

bachelor. 

"You  are  certainly  the  most  fortunate  of 
men  to  have  won  that  sweet,  simple  Elizabeth 
North !  I've  known  her  since  she  was  quite  a 
child — since  we  were  both  children,  in  fact, 
and  she  was  always  the  same  unspoiled,  unaf- 
fected girl,  so  different  from  the  young  women 
one  meets  in  society  circles." 

"She's  all  of  that,"  quoth  the  fortunate  en- 
gineer, vaguely  aware  of  a  lack  of  flavour  in 
Miss  Tripp's  encomium,  "and — er — more." 

Whereat  Miss  Tripp  laughed  archly  and 
playfully  shook  a  daintily  gloved  finger  at 
him.     "I  can  see  that  you  think  no  one  is  ca- 

29 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

pable  of  appreciating  your  prize ;  but  I  assure 
you  I  do!  You  shall  see!"  This  last  was  a 
favourite  phrase,  and  conveyed  quite  an  al- 
luring sense  of  mystery  linked  with  vague 
promise  of  unstinted  benevolences  on  the  part 
of  Miss  Tripp.  "Do  you  know,"  she  added 
seriously,  "I  am  told  that  you  are  closely  re- 
lated to  Mrs.  J.  Mortimer  Van  Duser.  She  is 
a  wonderful  woman,  so  prominent  in  the  best 
circles  and  interested  in  so  many  important 
charities." 

Samuel  Brewster  shook  his  head.  "The  re- 
lationship is  hardly  worth  mentioning,"  he 
said.  "Mrs.  Van  Duser  was  a  distant  relative 
of  my  mother's." 

"But  of  course  you  see  a  great  deal  of  her 
when  you  are  in  Boston;  do  you  not.''"  per- 
sisted the  lady. 

"I  dined  there  once,"  acknowledged  the 
young  man,  vaguely  uneasy  and  rather  too 
obviously  anxious  to  make  his  escape,  "but  I 
dare  say  she  has  forgotten  my  existence  by 
this  time.  Mrs.  Van  Duser  is,  as  you  say,  a 
very — er — active  woman." 

30 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

On  the  following  day  Elizabeth  North  en- 
countered Miss  Tripp  on  the  street.  She  was 
about  to  pass  her  after  a  shy  salutation,  when 
Miss  Tripp  held  out  both  hands  in  a  pretty, 
impulsive  gesture.  "I  was  just  on  my  way  to 
see  you,  dear ;  but  if  you  are  going  out,  of 
course  I'll  wait  till  another  day.  My  dear, 
he's  simply  perfect !  and  I  really  couldn't  wait 
to  tell  you  so.  Do  tell  me  when  you  are  to  be 
married  ?  In  June,  I  hope,  for  then  I  shall  be 
here  to  help." 

Elizabeth  blushed  prettily,  her  shy  gaze  tak- 
ing in  the  details  of  Miss  Tripp's  modish 
costume.  She  was  wondering  if  a  jacket 
made  like  the  one  Miss  Tripp  was  wearing 
would  be  becoming.  "I — we  haven't  thought 
so  far  ahead  as  that,"  she  said.  Then  with  a 
sudden  access  of  her  new  dignity.  "Mr.  Brew- 
ster expects  to  return  to  Boston  in  the  spring. 
The  work  here  will  be  finished  by  that 
time." 

Miss  Tripp's  eyes  brightened  with  a  specula- 
tive gleam.  "Oh,  then  you  will  live  in  Boston! 
How  delighted  I  am  to  hear  that!     Did  you 

31 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

know  jour  fiance  is  related  to  Mrs.  Mortimer 
Van  Duser  ?  and  that  he  has  dined  there  ?  You 
didn't?  But  of  course  you  must  have  heard 
of  Mrs.  Van  Duser;  I  beheve  your  minister's 
wife  is  a  relative  of  hers.  But  Mrs.  Van  Duser 
doesn't  approve  of  Mrs.  Pettibone,  I'm  told; 
her  opinions  are  so  odd.  But  I  am  so  glad  for 
you,  my  dear ;  if  everything  is  managed  prop- 
erly you  will  have  an  entree  to  the  most  ex- 
clusive circles."  Miss  Tripp's  eyebrows  and 
shoulders  expressed  such  unfeigned  interest 
and  delight  in  her  prospects  that  Elizabeth 
beamed  and  smiled  in  her  turn.  She  wished 
confusedly  that  Miss  Tripp  would  not  talk  to 
her  about  her  engagement ;  it  was  too  sacred, 
too  wonderful  a  thing  to  discuss  on  the  street 
with  a  mere  acquaintance  like  Miss  Tripp. 
Yet  all  the  while  she  was  rosily  conscious  of  her 
new  ring,  which  she  could  feel  under  her  glove, 
and  a  childish  desire  to  uncover  its  astonishing 
brilliancy  before  such  warmly  appreciative 
eyes  presently  overcame  her  desire  to  escape. 
"Won't  you  walk  home  with  me?"  she  asked; 
"mother  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you.' 

32 


j> 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

"Oh,  thank  you!  Indeed  I  was  coming  to 
condole  with  your  dear  mother  and  to  wish  you 
all  sorts  of  happiness.  I've  so  often  spoken  of 
you  to  my  friends  in  Boston." 

Elizabeth  wondered  what  Miss  Tripp  could 
possibly  have  said  about  her  to  her  friends  in 
Boston.  But  she  was  assured  by  Miss  Tripp's 
brilliant  smile  that  it  had  been  something 
aerreeable.  When  she  came  into  the  room  after 
removino:  her  hat  and  cloak  she  found  her 
mother  deep  in  conversation  with  the  visitor, 
who  made  room  for  her  on  the  sofa  with  a 
smile  and  a  graceful  tilt  of  her  plumed 
head. 

"We've  been  talking  about  you  every  minute, 
dear  child.  You'll  see  what  a  sweet  wedding 
you'll  have.  Everything  must  be  of  the  very 
latest ;  and  it  isn't  a  minute  too  soon  to  begin 
on  your  trousseau.  You  really  ought  to  have 
everything  hand-embroidered,  you  know ;  those 
flimsy  laces  and  machine-made  edges  are  so 
common,  you  won't  think  of  them;  and  they 
don't  wear  a  bit  well,  either." 

Mrs.    North    glanced    appealingly    at    her 

S3 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

daughter.  "Oh,"  she  said,  in  a  bewildered  tone,' 
"I  guess  Elizabeth  isn't  intending  to  be  mar- 
ried for  a  long,  long  time  yet ;  I — we  can't 
spare  her." 

Miss  Tripp  laughed  airily.  *'Poor  mamma," 
she  murmured  with  a  look  of  deep  sympathy, 
"it  is  too  bad ;  isn't  it  ?  But,  really,  I'm  sure 
you're  to  be  congratulated  on  your  future 
son-in-law.  He  belongs  to  a  ver2^  aristocratic 
family — Mrs.  Mortimer  Van  Duser  is  a  rela- 
tive, you  know ;  and  dear  Betty  must  have 
everything  suitable.  I'll  do  some  pretty  things, 
dear ;  I'd  love  to,  and  I'll  begin  this  very  day, 
though  the  doctor  has  absolutely  forbidden  me 
to  use  my  eyes ;  but  I  simply  can't  resist  the 
temptation." 

Then  she  had  exclaimed  over  the  sparkle  of 
Elizabeth's  modest  diamond,  which  caught  her 
eyes  at  the  moment,  and  presently  in  a  per- 
fumed rush  of  silken  skirts  and  laces  and  soft 
furs  Miss  Tripp  swept  away,  chatting  to  the 
outermost  verge  of  the  frosty  air  in  her  sweet- 
toned  drawling  voice,  so  different  from  the 
harsh  nasal  accents  familiar  to  Innisfield  ears. 

34 


AND    SO    THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

Elizabeth  drew  a  deep  breath  as  she  watched 
the  slim,  erect  figure  move  lightly  away.  She 
felt  somehow  very  ignorant  and  countrified 
and  totally  unfit  for  her  high  destiny  as  a 
member  of  Boston's  select  circles.  As  a  result 
of  these  unwonted  stirrings  in  her  young  heart 
she  went  up  to  her  room  and  began  to  look 
over  her  wardrobe  with  growing  dissatis- 
faction. 

Her  mother  hearing  the  sound  of  opening 
and  shuttino;  drawers  came  into  the  room  and 
stood  looking  on  with  what  appeared  to  the 
girl  a  provokingly  indifferent  expression  on 
lier  plump  middle-aged  face. 

"It  is  really  too  soon  to  begin  worrying  about 
wedding  clothes,  Bessie,"  observed  Mrs.  North 
with  a  show  of  maternal  authority.  "Of 
course" — after  a  doubtful  silence — "we  might 
begin  to  make  up  some  new  underclothes.  I've 
a  good  firm  piece  of  cotton  in  the  house,  and 
we  can  buy  some  edges." 

The  girl  suddenly  faced  her  mother,  her  pink 
lips  thrust  forward  in  an  unbecoming  pout. 
"Why,  mother,"   she  said,  "don't  you  know 

35 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

people  don't  wear  things  made  out  of  com- 
mon cotton  cloth  now ;  everything  has  to  be  as 
fine  and  delicate  as  a  cobweb  almost,  and — 
hand-embroidered.  You  can  make  them  or 
buy  them  in  the  stores.  Marian  had  some 
lovely  things  when  she  went  to  college.  AK 
the  girls  wear  them — except  me.  Of  course 
I've  never  had  anything  of  the  sort ;  but  X 
suppose  I'll  have  to  now !" 

She  shut  her  bureau  drawer  with  an  air  of 
finality  and  leaned  her  puckered  forehead  upon 
her  hand  while  the  new  diamond  flashed  its 
blue  and  white  fires  into  her  mother's  perplexed 
eyes. 

"We'll  do  the  very  best  we  can,  dear,"  Mrs. 
North  said  after  a  lengthening  pause ;  "but 
your  father's  patients  don't  pay  their  bills 
very  promptly,  and  there  are  the  boys'  college 
expenses  to  be  met;  we'll  have  to  think  of 
that." 

This  conversation  marked  the  beginning  of 
many  interviews,  gradually  increasing  in  poig- 
nant interest  to  both  mother  and  daughter. 
It  appeared  that  "Sam,"  as  Elizabeth  now 

36 


AND    SO    THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

called  her  lover  with  a  pretty  hesitancy  which, 
the  young  man  found  adorable,  wished 
to  be  married  in  June,  so  as  to  take  his 
bride  with  him  on  a  trip  West,  in  which 
business  and  pleasure  might  be  profitably 
combined. 

Mrs.  North  demurred  weakly  ;  but  Dr.  North, 
was  found  to  be  on  the  side  of  the  young  man. 
"I  don't  believe  in  long  engagements  myself," 
he  had  said,  w^ith  a  certain  suspicious  grufFness 
in  his  tones.  "I  hoped  we  should  have  our 
daughter  to  ourselves  for  a  while  lono;er ;  but 
she's  chosen  otherwise,  and  there  is  no  use  and 
no  need  to  wait.  We'll  have  to  let  her  go, 
wife,  and  the  sooner  the  better,  for  both  of 
them." 

The  important  question  being  thus  finally  de- 
cided, not  only  Miss  Tripp  but  the  Norths' 
whole  circle  of  acquaintances  in  Innisfield,  as 
well  as  the  female  relations,  near  and  far, 
were  found  ready  and  anxious  to  engage  heart 
and  soul  in  Elizabeth's  preparations  for  her 
wedding,  which  had  now  begun  in  what  might 
be  well  termed  solemn  earnest. 

37 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

"Are  we  going  to — keep  house?"  Elizabeth 
asked  her  lover  in  the  first  inrush  of  this  new 
tide  of  experience  which  was  soon  to  bear  her 
far  from  the  old  life. 

"To  keep  house,  dear,  with  you  would  be 
pretty  close  to  my  idea  of  heaven,"  the  young 
man  had  declared  with  all  the  fervour  of 
the  inexperienced  bachelor.  "I've  boarded 
for  nearly  six  years  now  with  barely  a 
taste  of  home  between  whiles,  and  I'm 
tired  of  it.  Don't  you  want  to  keep  house, 
dear.?" 

And  Elizabeth  answered  quite  sweetly  and 
truly  that  she  did.  "I  can  cook,"  she  said, 
proud  of  her  old-fashioned  accomplishment  in 
the  light  of  her  new  happiness.  "We  will  have 
just  a  little  house  to  begin  with,  and  then  I 
can  do  everything." 

But  a  suitable  house  of  any  size  in  Boston 
was  found  to  be  quite  out  of  the  question. 
"It  will  have  to  be  an  apartment,  my  dear," 
the  experienced  Miss  Tripp  declared;  "and  I 
believe  I  know  the  very  one  in  a  really  good 
neighbourhood.      I'll    write    at    once.      You 

38 


AND    SO   THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

mustn't  think  of  South  Boston,  even  if  it  is 
more  convenient  for  Mr.  Brewster.  It  is  so 
important  to  begin  right ;  and  you  know,  my 
dear,  you  couldn't  expect  any  one  to  come  to 
see  you  in  South  Boston." 

Mrs.  Carroll,  who  chanced  to  be  present,  was 
observed  to  compress  her  lips  firmly.  "Lizzie," 
she  said,  when  the  fashionable  Miss  Tripp  had 
finally  taken  her  departure,  after  much  vol- 
uble advice  on  the  subject  of  the  going-away 
gown,  coupled  with  a  spirited  discussion  of 
the  rival  merits  of  a  church  wedding  and  "just 
a  pretty,  simple  home  affair,"  "if  I  were  you 
I  shouldn't  let  that  Evelina  Kipp  decide  every- 
thing for  me.  You'd  better  make  up  your 
mind  what  you  want  to  do,  and  what  you  can 
afford  to  do,  and  then  do  it  without  asking  her 
leave.  It  seems  to  me  her  notions  are  extrava- 
gant and  foolish." 

"Why,  grandma !"  pouted  Elizabeth.  "I 
think  it  is  perfectly  dear  of  Miss  Tripp  to 
take  such  an  interest  in  my  wedding.  I 
shouldn't  have  known  what  to  do  about  lots  of 
things,  and  I'm  sure  you  and  mother  haven't 

39 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

an  idea."     The  girl's  pretty  lips  curled  and 
she  moved  her  slim  shoulders  gently. 

"Your  mother  and  I  both  managed  to  get 
married  without  Miss  Fripp's  advice,"  retorted 
grandma  tranquilly.  "I  may  not  have  an 
*idea,'  as  you  call  it,  but  I  can't  see  why  you 
should  have  ruffled  silk  petticoats  to  all  your 
dresses.  One  good  moreen  skirt  did  me,  with 
a  quilted  alpaca  for  every-day  wear  and  two 
white  ones  for  best.  And  as  for  a  dozen  sets 
of  underclothes,  that  won't  wear  once  they 
see  the  washtub,  they  look  foolish  to  me. 
More  than  all  that,  your  father  can't  afford 
it,  and  you  ought  to  consider  him." 

Elizabeth  looked  up  with  a  worried  pucker 
between  her  girlish  brows.  "I  don't  see  how 
I  am  going  to  help  it,  grandma,"  she  sighed ; 
*'I  really  must  have  suitable  clothes." 

"I  agree  with  you  there,  Lizzie,"  said  Mrs. 
Carroll,  eyeing  her  granddaughter  keenly  over 
the  top  of  her  spectacles ;  "but  you  aren't  go- 
ing to  have  them,  if  you  let  that  Sipp  girl  tell 
you  what  to  buy." 

"It     isn't     Sippy     grandma,     it's     Tripp. 

40 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED 

T-r-i-p-p,"  said  Elizabeth,  in  a  long-sufFering 
tone;  "and  she  knows  better  than  any  one  in 
Innisfield  possibly  can  what  I  am  going  to 
need  in  Boston." 

"You'll  find  the  people  in  Boston  won't  take 
any  particular  interest  in  your  petticoats,  Liz- 
zie," her  grandmother  told  her  pointedly.  But 
the  girl  had  spied  her  lover  coming  up  the 
walk  toward  the  house  and  had  flown  to  meet 

him. 

"What's  the  matter,  sweetheart?"  asked  the 
young  man,  examining  his  treasure  with 
the  keen  eyes  of  love.  "You  look  tired 
and— er— worried.      Anything   wrong,    little 

"N-no,"  denied  EHzabeth  evasively.  "Only 
grandma  has  such  queer,  old-fashioned  ideas 
about— clothes.  And  she  thinks  I  ought  to 
have  just  what  she  had  when  she  was  married 
to  grandfather  fifty  years  ago.  Of  course  I 
want  to  have  everything  nice  and— suitable  for 
Boston,  you  know." 

"What  you  are  wearing  now  is  pretty  enough 
for  anywhere,"  declared  Sam  Brewster,  with 

41 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

masculine  obtuseness.  ^' Don't  you  bother  one 
minute  about  clothes,  darling;  you'd  look 
lovely  in  anything." 

Then  he  kissed  her  faintly  smihng  Hps  with 
the  fatuous  idea  that  the  final  word  as  to  wed- 
ding finery  had  been  said. 


CHAPTER  IV 


^    9 
V 


*<If  you  can  give  me  just  a  minute,  Richard, 
before  you  go  out."  It  was  Mrs.  North's 
timidly  apologetic  voice  which  broke  in  upon 
her  husband's  hasty  preparations  for  a  day's 
professional  engagements. 

Dr.  North  faced  about  with  a  laughing 
twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "I  know  your  minutes, 
Lizzie,"  he  said,  absent-mindedly  sniffing  at 
the  cork  of  a  half-emptied  bottle.  "This 
gentian's  no  good;  I've  a  mind  to  ship  it 
back  to  Avery's  and  tell  them  what  I  think  of 
the  firm  for  selling  adulterated  drugs.  It's 
an  outrage  on  suffering  humanity.  I'll  write 
to  them  anyway."  And  he  began  to  rummage 
his  desk  in  quest  of  stationery. 

"I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  Bessie's 
things,"  persisted  Mrs.  North.  "You  know 
you  gave  me  some  money  for  her  wedding 
clothes  last  month;  but  it  isn't— it  won't  be 
nearly  enough." 


*i?» 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

"What  on  earth  have  you  been  buying  for 
the  child?"  asked  her  husband.  "I  should 
think  with  what  she  has  already  the  money  I 
gave  you  would  go  quite  a  ways." 

"That's  just  it,"  sighed  Mrs.  North.  "Bes- 
sie thinks  none  of  the  things  she  has  are — 
suitable."  She  hesitated  a  little  over  the  hard- 
worked  word.  "Of  course  living  in  Boston, 
and " 

"Pooh !  Boston's  no  different  from  any  other 
town,"  put  in  the  doctor.  "You  tell  Bess  I 
said  so.  She  doesn't  need  to  worry  about 
Boston^  He  plumped  down  in  his  office  chair 
and  began  an  indignant  protest  addressed  to 
the  firm  of  Avery  &  Co.,  Wholesale  Druggists 
and  Dealers   in   Surgical  Supplies. 

"I  haven't  bought  any  of  her  best  dresses 
yet,"  sighed  Mrs.  North;  "and  she  wants  an 
all-over  lace  for  her  wedding  dress.  Miss 
Tripp  says  they're  very  much  worn  now." 

She  paused  suggestively  while  the  doctor's 
pen  raced  busily  over  his  page. 

"You  didn't  hear  what  I  said,  did  you, 
Richard.^"  she  ventured  after  a  while. 

44 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

^  <V 
"Yes,  m'  dear ;  heard  every  word ;  you  were 
saying  you'd  bought  Bess  a  lace  wedding 
dress,  and  that  Miss  Tripp  says  they're  very 
much  worn,"  replied  her  husband,  fixing  on 
a  stamp  with  a  sounding  thump  of  his  big  fist. 
"Glad  to  hear  it.  Well,  I'll  have  to  be  moving 
now.     Good-bye,  m'  dear ;  home  to  dinner  if  I 

can  ;  if  not " 

"If  you  could  let  me  have  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars,  Richard,"  said  Mrs.  North  rather 
faintly,  "we'll  try  to  manage  with  that  for 
the  present." 

"Well,  now,  Lizzie,  when  it  comes  to  your 
wanting  anything  I  always  get  it  for  you — if 
I  can;  and  you  know  that;  but  I  sent  ofP 
cheques  to  Frank  and  Elliot  this  morning, 
and  I'm  what  you'd  call  strapped." 

"Couldn't  you  collect " 

The  doctor  kissed  his  wife  cheerfully.  "How 
can  I,  wifey,  when  folks  leave  their  doctor's 
bills  till  the  last  cent's  paid  to  everybody  else? 
Don't  know  as  I  blame  'em ;  it's  hard  enough 
to  be  sick  without  having  to  pay  out  money 
for  it;  now,  isn't  it?" 

45 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

"Oh,  Dick ;  if  that  isn't  just  like  you !  But 
I — I've  thought  of  a  way." 

"Good!    What  is  it?" 

"We  might — borrow  some  money  on  the 
house.     Other  people  do,  and " 

"Mortgage  our  house  for  wedding  finery? 
I  guess  you're  joking,  Lizzie.  At  any  rate, 
I'll  call  it  a  joke  and  let  it  pass  !  Good-bye !" 
The  quick  slam  of  the  office  door  put  a  con- 
clusive finish  to  the  doctor's  words,  and  his 
wife  went  back  to  her  work  on  one  of  Eliza- 
beth's elaborate  garments  with  a  heavy  heart. 

"What  did  Richard  say?"  Grandma  Carroll 
wanted  to  know,  when  the  girl  had  gone  into 
another  room  to  be  fitted. 

"He  said  he  couldn't  possibly  let  me  have 
anything  more  just  now,"  said  Richard's  wife 
with  a  shade  of  reserve  in  her  voice.  "You 
know,  mother,  people  are  so  slow  in  paying 
their  bills.  The  doctor  has  any  amount  out- 
standing if  he  could  only  get  it." 

"Such  folks  had  ought  to  be  made  to  pay  be- 
fore they  get  'ary  a  pill  or  a  powder,  same  's 
they  do  for  what  made  'em  sick.     They'd  find 

46 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

money  for  the  doctor  quick  enough  once  they 
had  a  right  sharp  pain  from  over-eating," 
was  grandma's  trenchant  opinion.  "But  I 
expected  he'd  say  that  all  along,  and  I  wanted 
to  give  you  this  for  Lizzie." 

She  slipped  a  little  roll  of  bills  into  her 
daughter's  lap.  "Don't  say  anything  to  the 
child  about  it,"  she  whispered,  nodding  her 
kind  old  head ;  "it  would  worry  her.  Besides 
I  don't  approve  of  the  amount  of  money  she's 
putting  into  perishable  things.  I  meant  to 
buy  her  a  real  good  clock  or  a  nice  solid 
piece  of  furniture ;  but  if  she'd  rather  have 
lace  frills  that'll  fall  to  pieces  in  the  washtub, 
I'm  willing  she  should  learn  by  experience, 
same  's  we've  had  to  do  before  her." 

Mrs.  North's  eyes  were  moist  and  shining. 
"It's  what  you've  been  putting  by  for  years, 
mother,"  she  whispered,  "for " 

"Hush !"  said  grandma.  "I  guess  when  it 
comes  right  down  to  it  I'm  full  as  foolish  as 
Lizzie.  Once  I  set  foot  in  the  golden  streets  I 
know  I  sha'n't  mind  whether  I  leave  a  marble 
monument  in  the  cemetery  or  not ;  and  you 

47 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

don't  need  to  either,  daughter.     Now  remem- 
ber!" 

Upon  this  hushed  conversation  entered  Eliza- 
beth in  a  flutter  of  excitement  and  rosy  pleas- 
ure over  a  letter  which  the  postman  had  just 
handed  her.  "It  is  from  Evelyn  Tripp,"  she 
said,  "and  she  wants  me  to  come  to  Boston  and 
stay  a  week  with  her ;  she  says  she  will  help  me 
pick  out  all  my  dresses,  and  I'd  better  have 
my  wedding  dress  and  my  going-away  gown 
made  there,  anyway.    Isn't  that  lovely  ?" 

Then,  as  she  met  her  mother's  dubious  gaze, 
"You  know  INlalvina  Bennett  hasn't  a  particle 
of  style;  and  we  don't  know  anything  about 
the  best  places  to  buy  things  in  Boston;  or 
the  dressmakers,  or  anything." 

"I've  shopped  in  Boston  for  years,"  said  Mrs. 
North,  with  a  show  of  firmness,  "and  I'm  sure 
everything  at  Cooper's  gives  perfect  satisfac- 
tion." 

"Oh,  Cooper's?'  laughed  the  girl.  "Why, 
mother,  dear,  nobody  goes  to  Cooper's  nowa- 
days.   It's  just  for  country  people  from  out 

of  town." 

48 


AND    SO   THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

"What  are  we,  I'd  like  to  know?"  Grandma 
Carroll  wanted  to  know,  with  a  humorous 
twinkle  in  her  shrewd  eyes.  "I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  you'd  better  do  your  shopping  with 
your  mother,  Lizzie;  her  judgment  would 
likely  be  quite  as  good  as  that  Tipp  girl's,  and 
more  in  a  line  with  what  you  can  afford.  You 
should  remember  that  Samuel  isn't  a  rich  man, 
and  you'll  need  good,  substantial  dresses  that'll 
last.  I  remember  I  had  a  blue  Russell-cord 
poplin  when  I  was  married  that  I  wore  for  fif- 
teen years;  then  I  made  it  over  for  your 
mother,  and  she  looked  as  pretty  as  a  pink  in 
it  for  two  more ;  then  she  outgrew  it  and  I 
gave  it  away ;  but  the  cloth  in  it  was  as  good 
as  new.    A  dress  like  that  paz/s/" 

Elizabeth  laughed  somewhat  impatiently. 
"I've  heard  about  that  wonderful  poplin  ever 
since  I  can  remember,"  she  said.  "I  wonder 
you  didn't  save  it  for  me.  But  I  don't  want  to 
buy  any  dresses  that  will  last  for  fifteen  years. 
I'm  sure  Sam  can  buy  me  more  dresses  when 
I  want  them.  I  may  go  to  Boston ;  mayn't  I, 
mother  .'^" 

49 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

Mrs.  North  looked  wistfully  at  the  pretty, 
eager  face.  She  had  looked  forward  with 
pleasure — somewhat  tempered,  it  is  true,  by 
the  knowledge  of  her  meagre  resources,  yet 
still  with  pleasure — to  the  choosing  of  her 
daughter's  wedding  gown,  with  all  its  dainty 
accessories  of  tulle  and  lace.  "I  had  thought 
of  a  silk  muslin,"  she  said  rather  faintl}^,  "or 
perhaps  a  cream  satin — if  you'd  like  it  better, 
dear,  and " 

"I  shouldn't  like  either  of  those,"  said  the  girl 
decidedly,  "and  there's  so  much  to  do  that  it 
will  really  save  time  if  you  don't  have  to  bother 
with  any  of  that;  Evelyn  (it  was  Evelyn  and 
V  Elizabeth  now)  says  chiffon  over  liberty  satin 
would  be  lovely  if  I  can't  afford  the  lace.  Of 
course  I  wouldn't  buy  a  cheap  lace.^^ 

That  nicfht  when  Dr.  North  came  home  he 
tossed  a  handful  of  bills  into  his  daughter's 
'^lap.  "For  the  wedding  gown,  Bess,"  he  said; 
"worse  luck  that  you  want  one !" 

"Oh,  why  do  you  say  that,  you  darling 
daddy  ?"  murmured  the  girl,  "when  I'm  going 
to  be  so  happy !"     She  was  radiantly  happy 

50 


AND    SO    THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

now,  it  appeared,  and  the  doctor's  keen  eyes 
grew  moist  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"Guess  I  was  thinking  about  myself  princi- 
pally," he  confessed  gruffl}',  "and  about  your 
mother.  We're  going  to  be  lonesome  ;  and  I — 
don't  hketo  think  of  it." 

The  girl's  bright  face  clouded.  "The  boys 
will  be  at  home  summers,"  she  said,  "and  I'll 
come  back  to — visit  often,  you  know.  I  sha'n't 
be  far  away,  daddy."  She  clung  to  him  for  a 
minute  without  a  word,  a  faint  realisation  of 
the  irrevocable  change  so  near  at  hand  sweep- 
ing over  her. 

"Of  course  you  zcill,  Betsey  Jane !"  vocifer- 
ated the  doctor,  affecting  a  vast  jocularity  for 
the  purpose  of  concealing  his  feelings,  which 
threatened  to  become  unmanageable.  "If  3^ou 
don't  show  up  in  Innisfield  about  once  in  so 
often  I'll  come  to  Boston  with  my  bag  and 
give  that  young  robber  a  dose  that  will  make 
his  hair  curl." 

The  next  day  the  bride-elect  journeyed  to 
Boston  carrying  what  appeared  to  her  a  small 
fortune  in  her  little  hand-bag.     "You've  all 

51 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

been  so  good!"  she  said.     "I  can  just  buy. 
everything  I  need  with  all  this." 

Evelyn  Tripp  met  Elizabeth  in  South  Sta- 
tion with  open  arms.  "How  well  you  are  look- 
ing, you  darling^  she  exclaimed  effusively. 
"Now  if  we  can  only  keep  those  rases  through 
all  the  shopping  and  dressmaking.  It  is  so 
exhausting;  but  I've  everything  planned  for 
you  down  to  the  last  frill,  and  Madame  Pryse 
has  at  last  consented  to  make  your  gowns !  If 
you  knezc)  what  I've  been  through  with  that 
woman !  She  simply  will  not  take  a  new 
customer :  but  when  I  mentioned  the  fact  that 
you  were  to  marry  a  nephew  of  Mrs.  Mortimer 
Van  Duser  she  finally  capitulated.  I  could 
have  embraced  her!" 

"But  Sam  isn't  Mrs.  Van  Duser's  nephew, 
Evelvn.  I  believe  his  mother  was  Mrs.  Van 
Duser's  second  cousin." 

"Oh,  well,  that  doesn't  signify.  I'm  sure,  I 
had  to  say  something  convincing,  and  Mrs. 
Van  Duser  was  my  dernier  resort.  Pryse  will 
do  anything  for  you  now,  you'll  see,  my  dear! 
And.  oh,  Betty  dear,  when  I  was  in  at  Alt- 

52 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

C?  ^ 
ford's  yesterday  I  just  chanced  upon  the  most 
wonderful  bargain  in  a  lace  robe,  and  had  it 
sent  up  on  approval.  The  most  exquisite 
thing,  and  marked  down  from  a  hundred  and 
twenty-seven  dollars  to — what  do  you  think? 

only  eighty-nine,  fifty  !     I  was  so  pleased ; 

for  I  am  sure  it  is  just  what  you  want.  I  got 
samples,  too,  of  the  most  bewitching  silks  for 
your  dinner  gown — you  must  have  at  least 
'^one,  you  know,  a  simple,  pretty  crepe  de  chine 
or  something  of  the  sort ;  and  then  with  a  little 
frock  or  two  for  luncheons  and  card  parties, 
your  tailor-made — ^that  must  be  ^ooJ— and 
your  wedding  gown  for  evening  affairs  you 
will  do  nicely." 

"But,  Evelyn,"  interrupted  Elizabeth  tim- 
idly, "I'm  afraid  I  can't —  You  know  I  didn't 
expect  to  buy  but  two  dresses  in  Boston.  ]Mal- 
vina    Bennett    is    making    me    a    black    silk, 

and " 

Miss  Tripp  paused  to  smile  and  bow  at  a 
passing  acquaintance;  then  she  turned  pro- 
testing eyes  upon  the  girl.  "You  dear  child," 
she  murmured,  "you're  not  to  worry  about  a 

53 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

single  thing.  That's  just  what  I  mean  to 
spare  you.  I  am  determined  you  shall  have 
just  what  you  are  going  to  need;  and  if  you 
haven't  enough  money  with  you,  I  can  arrange 
everything  at  Altford's  without  a  bit  of 
trouble ;  and  of  course  you  will  pay  Pryse  her 
bill  when  it  is  perfectly  convenient  for  you. 
She  doesn't  expect  to  be  paid  promptly. 
Really,  I  don't  believe  she  would  have  a  par- 
ticle of  respect  for  a  patron  who  insisted  upon 
pa3nng  for  a  gown  the  minute  it  was  finished. 
First-class  modistes  and  milliners,  too,  are  all 
that  way ;  they  know  better  than  to  send  their 
bills  too  soon.  So  th^t  needn't  bother  you, 
dear;  and  of  course  Pryse  finds  everything, 
which  will  save  enormously  on  your  outlay." 

Elizabeth  felt  very  meek  and  hopelessly 
countrified  as  she  laid  off  her  wraps  in  Miss 
Tripp's  rather  stuffy  but  ornate  little  apart- 
ment. Mrs.  Tripp,  a  faded,  apologetic  per- 
son smelling  of  rice-powder  and  sachet,  smiled 
vaguelv  upon  her  and  murmured  something 
about  "Evy's  wonderful  taste !" 

One  thing  at  least  was  clear  to  Elizabeth  as 

54 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

she  lay  wide-eyed  in  the  darkness  that  night, 
after  an  evening  spent  in  the  confusing  ex- 
amination and  comparison  of  fashion-plates 
and  samples,  and  that  was  the  conviction  that 
the  "fortune"  with  which  she  had  joyfully  set 
forth  that  morning  had  dwindled  to  a  pitiful 
insufficiency  before  the  multiphed  necessities 
imposed  upon  it  by  Miss  Tripp's  undeniable 
taste  and  knowledge. 

She  almost  wished  she  had  chosen  to  do  her 
shopping  with  her  mother  and  Grandma  Car- 
roll, as  she  realised  that  she  would  be  obliged 
to  write  home  for  more  money.  But  it  was  too 
late  to  change  her  mind  now ;  and,  after  all, 
Evelyn  knew  best  as  to  what  a  bride  about  to 
move  in  polite  circles  in  Boston  would  require. 
She  went  to  sleep  at  last  and  dreamed  of  stand- 
ing up  to  be  married  in  a  Russell-cord  poplin 
(whatever  that  wonderful  fabric  might  be) 
which  had  already  done  duty  for  fifteen  years, 
and  was  "as  good  as  new." 


55 


CHAPTER  V 

As  the  twenty-first  day  of  June  drew  on  apace, 
Fate,  in  the  shm,  active  personaHty  of  Miss 
Evelyn  Tripp,  appeared  to  have  taken  the  en- 
tire North  household  firmly  in  hand.  Events 
marched  on  in  orderly,  if  surprising  sequence, 
beginning  with  the  issuing  of  the  invitations 
bearing  the  name  of  Boston's  most  expensive 
firm  of  engravers  on  the  flap  of  the  inner  en- 
velope. 

"Every  one  looks  for  that  the  very  first 
thing,"  Miss  Tripp  had  announced  conclu- 
sively ;"and  one  simply  couldn't  have  the  name 
of  a  department  store  or  a  cheap  engraver  1" 
The  correct  Miss  Tripp  shuddered  at  the  aw- 
ful picture. 

"But  these  are  so  much  more  expensive  than 
I  had  expected,"  demurred  Mrs.  North,  with  a 
worried  sigh.  "I  had  intended  ordering  them 
at  Cooper's;  they  do  them  just  as  well  there. 
Don't  they  sometimes  leave  off  the  name.'"' 

56 


AND    SO    THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

V  ^ 
Miss  Tripp  bestowed  a  pitying  smile  upon 
the  questioner.  "Indeed  they  do,  dear  Mrs. 
North,"  she  replied  indulgently ;  "but  that  is 
merely  a  subterfuge ;  one  always  suspects  the 
worst  when  there  is  no  name.     It  pays  to  have 

the  best:' 

This  latter  undeniable  dictum  was  found  to 
be  entirely  applicable  to  every  detail  of  the 
forthcoming  festivities,  and  involved  such  a 
multiplicity  of  expensive  items  that  Grand- 
ma Carroll  was  openly  indignant,  and  her  more 
pliant  daughter  reduced  to  a  state  of  be- 
wildered apathy. 

"I've  been  wanting  to  say  to  you  for  a  long 
time,   Miss   Phipps,   that   our   Lizzie   isn't   a 
fashionable  girl,  and  that  her  father  is  a  poor 
man  and  can't  afford  such  doings,"  Mrs.  Car- 
roll protested  in  no  uncertain  tones.     "Now  I 
can't  for  the  life  of  me  see  why  we  should 
have  an  organist  from  Boston  to  play  the  wed- 
ding m.arch,  when  Liddy  Green  can  do  it  just 
as  well,  and  her  feelings  is  going  to  be  hurt  if 
she  doesn't ;  and  as  for  a  florist  from  Newton 
Centre   to    decorate   the    church,    the    young 

57 


AND    SO   THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

folks  in  the  Sunday-school  would  be  glad  to  go 
to  the  woods  after  greens,  and  they'll  put  'em 
up  for  nothing.  It's  going  to  cost  enough, 
the  land  knows,  but  there's  no  use  of  piling  up 
unnecessary  expenses." 

Miss  Tripp  smiled  winningly  upon  the  ex- 
asperated old  lady.  ^'Nothing  is  too  good  for 
dear  Elizabeth  now,^^  she  murmured,  "and  you 
know,  dear  Mrs.  Carroll,  that  a  number  of 
Boston  people  will  be  here — Mrs.  Van  Duser, 
we  hope,  and — others." 

Grandma  Carroll  fixed  piercing  eyes  upon 
the  indefatigable  Evelyn.  "Of  course  you 
mean  well,"  she  said  crisply ;  "but  if  I  was  you 
I'd  take  a  rest ;  I'm  afraid  you're  getting  all 
tuckered  out  doing  so  much.  And  considering 
that  you  ain't  any  relation  I  guess  I'd  let  Liz- 
zie's own  folks  'tend  to  the  wedding  from  now 


on." 


There  was  no  mistaking  the  meaning  of  this 
plain  speech.  For  an  instant  Evelyn  Tripp's 
faded  cheeks  glowed  with  mortified  colour; 
then  she  recovered  herself  with  a  shrug  of  her 
elegant  shoulders.    Who,  after  all,  was  Mrs. 

58 


AXD    SO    THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

Carroll  to  interfere  in  this  unwarranted  man- 
ner? 

"It  is  50  sweet  of  you  to  think  of  poor  little 
me,  dear  Mrs.  Carroll,"  she  said  caressingly. 
"And  indeed  I  am  worn  almost  to  a  fringe  ;  but 
1  am  promising  myself  a  good,  long  rest  after 
everything  is  over.  Nothing  would  induce  me 
to  leave  dear  Elizabeth  now.  She  couldn't 
possibly  get  along  without  me."  She  dropped 
a  forgiving  kiss  on  top  of  Grandma  Carroll's 
cap  and  flitted  away  before  that  justly  indig- 
nant lady  could  reply. 

Miss  Tripp  was  right.  It  would  have  been 
impossible  for  the  unsophisticated  Norths  to 
have  completed  the  arrangements  for  the  en- 
tirely "correct"  wedding  which  Miss  Tripp 
had  planned  and  was  carrying  through  in  the 
face  of  unnumbered  obstacles.  As  to  the  mo- 
tives which  upheld  her  in  her  altruistic  efforts 
in  behalf  of  Elizabeth  North  Miss  Tripp  was 
not  entirely  clear.  It  is  not  always  desirable, 
if  possible,  to  classify  and  label  one's  actual 
motives,  and  Miss  Tripp,  for  one,  rarely  at- 
tempted the  task.    A  vague  emptiness  of  pur- 

59 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

pose,  a  vast  weariness  of  the  unending  routine 
of  her  own  somewhat  disappointing  career,  a 
real,  if  superficial  kindness  of  heart,  and  back 
of  all  an  entirely  unacknowledged  ambition  to 
attain  to  that  sacred  inner  circle  of  Boston 
society  wherein  revolved  the  august  Mrs.  Mor- 
timer Van  Duser,  with  other  lesser  luminaries, 
about  the  acknowledged  "hub"  of  the  universe ; 
toward  which  Miss  Tripp  had  hitherto  grav- 
itated like  a  humble  asteroid,  small,  unnoticed, 
yet  aspiring.  One  of  the  irreproachable  in- 
vitations had  been  duly  sent  to  Mrs.  Van 
Duser;  but  as  yet  there  had  been  no  visible 
token  that  it  had  been  received. 

''Won't  you  ask  ]\Ir.  Brewster  if  he  will  not 
add  a  personal  invitation?"  entreated  Miss 
Tripp  of  the  bride-elect,  who  had  appeared 
alarmingly  indifferent  when  the  importance  of 
this  hoped-for  guest  was  duly  set  forth  in  her 
hearing.  "You  don't  seem  to  realise  what  it 
would  mean  to  you  both  to  have  Mrs.  Van 
Duser  present.  Let  me  persuade  him  to  write 
— or  perhaps  better  to  call ;  one  cannot  be  too 
attentive  to  a  person  in  her  position." 

60 


AXD    SO    THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

But  Sam  Brewster  had  merely  laughed  and 
pulled  the  little  curl  behind  his  sweetheart's 
ear  when  she  spoke  of  Mrs.  Van  Duser. 
"Really,  I  don't  care  whether  the  old  lady 
comes  or  not,"  he  said,  without  meaning  any 
disrespect.  "She's  a  stiff,  uncomfortable  sort 
of  person;  you  wouldn't  like  her,  Betty.  I 
went  there  to  dinner  once,  and,  my  word,  it 
was  enough  for  me !" 

"But,"  persisted  Elizabeth,  mindful  of  Miss 
Tripp's  solemn  exhortations,  "if  she's  a  rela- 
tion of  yours,  oughtn't  you  to " 

"She  was  mother's  second  cousin,  I  believe; 
not  much  of  a  relation  to  me,  you  see.  And 
seriously,  little  girl,  we  can't  travel  in  her 
class  at  all ;  and  we  don't  want  to,  even  if  we 
could." 

"But  why.?"  demanded  Ehzabeth,  sHghtly 
piqued  by  his  tone;  "don't  you  think  I  am 
good  enough?" 

"You're  a  hundred  times  too  good.  In  my 
opinion  !"    And  the  young  engineer  kissed  the 

pouting  lips  with  an  earnestness  which  ad- 
mitted of  no  teasing  doubts.     "It's  only  that 

61 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

'^  ^ 
Mrs.  Van  D.  is  rich  and  proud  and — er — ' 
queer,  and  that  she  won't  take  any  notice  of 
us.  I'm  glad  you  sent  her  an  invitation, 
though;  that  was  a  civil  acknowledgment  of 
a  slight  obligation  on  my  side.  I  hope  she 
won't  send  us  a  present,  and — I  don't  believe 
she  will." 

The  two  were  examining  the  bewildering  ar- 
ray of  glittering  objects  which  had  been  arriv- 
ing steadily  for  a  week  past,  by  mail  and  ex- 
press;  in  cases  left  by  Boston  firms,  and  in 
dainty  boxes  tied  with  white  ribbons  from 
near-by  friends  and  neighbours.  The  nebu- 
lous reports  of  Elizabeth's  wedding  outfit, 
circulated  from  mouth  to  mouth  and  expand- 
ing in  rainbow  tints  as  they  travelled,  were  re- 
flected in  the  shining  cut  glass  and  silver  which 
was  spread  out  before  the  wondering  eyes  of 
the  young  couple. 

When  Aunt  ]\Iiranda  Carroll  heard  that 
Elizabeth's  trousseau  included  a  dozen  of 
everything  (all  hand-embroidered),  a  lace 
wedding-dress  that  cost  over  a  hundred  dollars 
and  a  pale  blue  velvet  dinner  gown  lined  with 

62 


AND    SO    THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

taffeta,  she  instantly  abandoned  the  Idea  she 
had  in  mind  of  four  dozen  fine  cotton  sheets, 
six  dozen  pillow-sHps  and  fifty  good,  substan- 
tial huck  towels  in  favour  of  a  cut-glass 
punch-bowl  of  gigantic  proportions.  "It 
would  be  just  the  thing  for  parties  in  Boston," 
her  daughter  ]Marian  thought. 

And  Uncle  Caleb  North,  at  the  urgent  ad- 
vice of  his  wife  (who  had  heard  in  the  mean- 
time from  Aunt  Miranda),  exchanged  his 
cheque  for  a  hundred  dollars  for  a  chest  of 
silver  knives  v>-ith  mother-of-pearl  handles. 
They  looked  so  much  richer  than  the  cheque, 
which  would  have  to  be  concealed  in  an  incon- 
spicuous envelope.  Following  the  shining  ex- 
ample of  Aunt  Miranda  and  Uncle  Caleb, 
other  relatives  of  lesser  substance  contributed 
cut-glass  bowls  and  dishes  of  every  conceiv- 
able design  and  for  every  known  contingency  ; 
silver  forks  and  spoons  of  singular  shapes  and 
sizes,  suggesting  elaborate  course  luncheons 
and  fashionable  dinners.  While  of  lace- 
trimmed  and  embroidered  centre-pieces  and 
dovlies  there  was  a  plenitude  which  would  have 

63 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

set  forth  a  modest  linen  draper.  Fragile  vases, 
hand-painted  fans,  perfume  bottles,  silver 
trifles  of  unimagined  uses,  sofa  pillows  and 
gilt  clocks  crowded  the  tables  and  overflowed 
onto  the  floor  and  mantelpiece. 

Ehzabeth  surve3^ed  the  collection  with  spark- 
ling eyes.  "Aren't  they  lovely  .^"  she  demanded, 
slipping  her  hand  within  her  lover's  arm  ;  "and 
aren't  you  surprised,  Sam,  to  see  how  many 
friends  we  have.'^" 

"Yes,  I  am — awfully  surprised,"  acknowl- 
edged the  young  man.  His  brows  were  drawn 
over  meditative  eyes  as  he  examined  a  shining 
carving-set  with  impossible  ivory  handles. 
"What  are  we  going  to  do  with  them  all?"  he 
propounded  at  length. 

"Do  with  them?  Why  use  them,  I  suppose," 
responded  Elizabeth  vaguely.  "Do  see  these 
darling  little  cups,  all  gold  and  roses,  and 
these  coff'ee-spoons  with  enamelled  handles — 
these  make  eight  dozen  coff^ee-spoons,  Sam !" 

"Hum !"  mused  the  unappreciative  engineer. 
"We  might  set  up  a  restaurant,  as  far  as  cof- 
fee-spoons go." 

64 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

Elizabeth  was  bending  rapturously  over  a 
lace  fan,  sewn  thick  with  spangles.  "I  feel  so 
rich  with  all  these  lovely  things,"  she  mur- 
mured. "I  never  dreamed  of  having  so  many." 
She  made  such  an  exquisite  picture  in  her 
glowing  youth  amid  the  sparkle  and  glitter  of 
the  dainty  trifles  that  it  is  little  wonder  that 
Samuel  Brewster  lost  his  usually  level  head  for 
the  moment.  "You  ought  always  to  have  all 
the  pretty  things  you  want,  darling,"  he 
whispered;  "for  you  are  the  prettiest  and 
sweetest  girl  alive." 

Later  in  the  day  the  ubiquitous  Miss  Tripp 
was  discovered  in  the  act  of  artfully  conceal- 
ing Mrs.  Carroll's  gift,  made  by  her  own  faith- 
ful hands,  under  a  profusion  of  lace-edged 
doylies  lately  arrived  from  a  distant  cousin. 
"There !"  she  exclaimed,  with  an  air  of  reUef , 
"those  big  gingham  aprons  and  the  dish-towels 
and  dusters  did  look  so  absurd  with  all  the 
other  lovely  things;  they  won't  show  now." 
And  she  planted  a  silver  fern-dish  in  the  midst 
and  surveyed  the  effect  with  her  head  tilted 
thoughtfully.    "Wasn't  it  quaint  of  Mrs.  Car- 

65 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

^  C> 
roll  to  make  all  those  useful  things?  You  can- 
give  them  to  your  maid  afterward ;  they  al- 
ways expect  to  be  found  in  aprons  nowadays — 
if  not  frocks.  Really,  I  draw  the  line  at 
frocks,  with  the  wages  one  is  obliged  to  pay ; 
and  I  should  advise  you  to." 

"I'm  not  going  to  have  a  maid,"  said  Eliza- 
beth.   "I  can  cook,  and  I  like  to." 

Miss  Tripp  whirled  about  and  caught  the 
girl  in  her  arms  with  an  amused  laugh.  "You 
dear,  romantic  child !"  she  cried.  "Did  it  have 
the  prettiest  dreams  about  love  in  a  cottage, 
and  the  young  wife  with  her  sleeves  rolled  up 
cooking  delicious  impossibilities  for  a  doting 
husband  ?  That's  all  very  well,  my  dear ;  but, 
seriously,  it  won't  do  in  a  Boston  apartment- 
house.  You  won't  have  a  minute  to  yourself 
after  the  season  once  begins,  and  of  course 
after  a  while  you'll  be  expected  to  entertain — 
quite  simply,  3'ou  know,  a  luncheon  or  two, 
with  cards ;  possibly  a  dinner ;  you  can  do  it 
beautifully  with  all  these  lovely  things  for 
your  table.  Ill  help  3^ou;  so  don't  get 
frightened  at  the  idea.     But  fancy  your  do- 

66 


AXD    SO    THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

ing  all  that  without  a  maid !  You  mustn't 
think  of  it !  And  I  am  sure  dear  Mrs.  Van 
Duser  will  give  you  the  same  advice." 

The  soft  pink  in  Elizabeth's  cheeks  deepened 
to  rose.  "Mrs.  Van  Duser  isn't  coming  to  the 
wedding,"  she  said,  in  a  faintly  defiant  tone. 

"Oh  !    Did  she  send  you " 

"She  sent  regrets,"  said  Elizabeth  coldly. 

Miss  Tripp's  eyebrows  expressed  the  pro- 
foundest  disappointment.  "I  am  so  sorry,^"^ 
she  murmured,  suddenly  aware  that  she  was 
exceedingly  weary  of  the  North  wedding.  "It 
will  spoil  everything J'^ 

"I  can't  see  why,"  returned  Elizabeth  with 
spirit,  not  realising  that  Miss  Tripp's  com- 
ment applied  solely  to  her  own  feelings.  "It 
won't  prevent  my  being  married  to  Sam ;  and 
Sam  says  he  is  glad  she  is  not  coming.  She 
must  be  a  stiff,  pokey  sort  of  a  person,  and  I 
am  sure  it  will  be  pleasanter  without  her.  She 
isn't  hardly  any  relation  to  Sam,  anyway,  and 
I  don't  think  I  care  to  know  her." 

"My  6?^ar.'"  expostulated  Miss  Tripp, "you'll 
see  things  very  differently  some  day,  I  hope. 

67 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

And  I  am  glad  to  say  that  these  relationships 
do  count  in  Boston,  if  not  in  other  parts  of 
the  world,  and  you  cannot  prevent  people 
from  knowing  that  they  exist." 

Like  a  skilful  general  Miss  Tripp  was  sweep- 
ing her  field  clear  of  her  disappointment,  pre- 
paratory to  marshalling  her  forces  for  a  new 
campaign.  "Did  Mrs.  Van  Duser  send  cards, 
or  did  she " 

"She  wrote  a  note — a  stiff,  disagreeable 
note." 

"Would  you  mind  showing  it  to  me,  dear?" 

Elizabeth  produced  a  thick  white  envelope 
from  the  little  embroidered  pocket  at  her  belt. 
"You  may  read  it,"  she  said ;  "then  I  mean  to 
tear  it  up." 

Miss  Tripp  bent  almost  worshipful  eyes 
upon  the  large,  square  sheet.  "Mrs.  J.  Mor- 
timer Van  Duser"  (she  read)  "begs  to  con- 
vey her  acknowledgments  to  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
North  for  their  invitation  to  the  marriage  of 
their  daughter,  and  regrets  that  she  cannot  be 
present.  Mrs.  Van  Duser  begs  to  add  that 
she  will  communicate  further  with  Mr.   and 

68 


AND    SO    THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

Mrs.  Samuel  Brewster  upon  their  arrival  in 
Boston   upon   a   matter   of   moment   to   them 

both." 

'•Isn't  that  a  disagreeable-sounding  note?" 
demanded  Elizabeth,  her  pretty  chin  tilted  at 
an  aggressive  angle.  "I  just  know  I  shouldn't 
like  her  from  that  letter.  But  I'm  sure  I  can't 
think  what  she  wants  to  say  to  us  'upon  our 
arrival  in  Boston.'  " 

"My  dcarr  exclaimed  Miss  Tripp,  with  a 
horrified  stare,  "what  can  you  be  thinking  of.? 
That  note  is  in  the  most  perfect  form.     I  am 
so  glad  you  showed  it  to  me  1     'Something  of 
moment  \o  you  both,'  what  can  it  mean  but  a 
gift—perhaps    a    generous    cheque,    and   un- 
doubtedly a  reception  to  introduce  you.     My 
dear!  Mrs.  Van  Duser  is  said  to  be  worth  m\l- 
lions,  and  what  is  more,  and  far,  far  better, 
she  moves  in  the  most  exclusive  society.     You 
dear,  lucky  girl,  I  congratulate  you  upon  the 
recognition  you  have  received.     Tear  it  up 
indeed,  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort  1     I'll 
put  it  here  right  by  this  cut-glass  vase,  where 
everv  one  will  see  it." 

69 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED 

Elizabeth  pouted.  "Mother  didn't  like  it," 
she  said,  "and  grandma  laughed  over  it,  and 
Sam  told  me  to  forget  it;  I  don't  see  why 
you " 

^'Because  I  know,'^  intoned  Miss  Tripp 
solemnly.  "I  only  hope  you  won't  forget 
poor  little  me  when  you're  fairly  launched  in 
^Irs.  Van  Duser's  set." 

Elizabeth  gazed  reflectively  at  her  friend. 
"Oh,  I  couldn't  forget  you,"  she  said ;  "yoil've 
been  so  good  to  me.  But,"  she  added,  with 
what  Miss  Tripp  mentally  termed  delicious 
naivete,  "I  don't  suppose  we  shall  give  many 
large  parties,  just  at  first." 


70 


CHAPTER  VI 

'*I  AM  of  the  opinion,"  wrote  the  sapient  Dr. 
Johnson,  "that  marriages  would  in  general  be 
as  happy,  and  often  more  so,  if  they  were  all 
made  by  the  Lord  Chancellor,  upon  a  due  con- 
sideration of  the  circumstances  and  charac- 
ters, without  the  parties  thereto  having  any 
choice  in  the  matter." 

That  this  radical  matrimonial  reform  did  not 
find  favour  in  the  eyes  of  his  own  or  any  suc- 
ceeding generation  brands  it  as  visionary, 
impracticable,  not  to  be  seriously  entertained, 
in  short,  by  any  one  not  a  philosopher  and 
not  himself  in  love.  But  could  the  benevolent 
shade  of  Dr.  Johnson  be  let  into  the  details 
of  a  fashionable  modern  wedding,  it  is  safe  to 
predict  that  he  might  recommend  a  new  civic 
function  to  be  administered  either  by  the  Lord 
Chancellor,  or  by  some  equally  responsible 
person  for  the  purpose  of  regulating  by  sump- 
tuary law  the  bridal  trousseau  and  the  wed- 

71 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

ding  presents.  The  renewed  Georgian  sage 
could  not  fall  to  recognise  the  relation  which 
these  too  often  unconsidered  items  bear  to  the 
welfare  of  the  private  citizen  in  particular 
and  to  the  weal  of  mankind  in  general.  An-d 
who  can  deny  that  all  legislation  is,  or  should 
be,  centred  chiefly  on  these  very  ends. 

Such  sober  reflections  as  the  above,  though 
perhaps  forming  an  unavoidable  background 
in  the  minds  of  several  of  the  older  persons 
present,  did  not  cloud  the  rapturous  happi- 
ness of  Elizabeth  Carroll  North,  as  she  paced 
slowly  up  the  aisle  of  the  Innisfield  Presby- 
terian church  on  the  arm  of  her  father,  the 
folds  of  her  "Pryse  gown,"  as  Miss  Tripp 
was  careful  to  designate  it,  sweeping  grace- 
fully behind  her.  The  bridesmaids  in  pale 
rose-colour  and  the  maid  of  honour  in  white; 
the  tiny  flower-girls  bearing  baskets  of  roses ; 
the  ushers  with  their  boutonnieres  of  orange 
buds ;  the  waving  palms  and  the  sounding 
music  each  represented  a  separate  WPvterloo, 
fought  and  won  by  the  Napoleonic  ]\Iiss 
Tripp,  who  looked  on,  wan  but  self-satisfied, 

72 


5f 


I— ( 

-2     fl 


AND    SO   THEY    WERE    MARRIED 
Z>     ^ 
from  a  modest  position  in  the  audience.    Never 
had  there  been  such  a  wedding  in  Innisfield. 
Everybody  said  so  in  loud,  buzzing  whispers. 
Sadie  Buckthorn,  who  was  engaged  to  Milton 
Scrvmo-er,    informed    her    mamma    that    she 
should  be  married  in  church  in  October,  and 
that  her  bridesmaids  should  w^ear  yellow.     And 
Bob  Garrett,  a  clerk  in  a  Boston  department 
store,  told  his  sweetheart  that  he  gue-scd  the 
wedding  was  about  their  speed,  and  added  that 
he  knew  a  swell  floor-walker  who  would  look 
simply  great  as  best  man. 

As  for  the  young  couple  chiefly  concerned 
thev  might  have  walked  on  air  instead  of  on 
the  roses  strewed  in  their  path  by  the  little 
flower-girls ;  and  the  hundreds  of  curious  eyes 
fastened  upon  them  wxre  as  dim,  painted  eyes 
upon  a  tapestried  wall.  They  only  saw  each 
other  and  the  gate  of  that  ancient  Eden  of  the 
race  opening  before  them. 

That  same  evening,  after  all  was  over,  and 
when,  as  the  village  reporter  phrased  it  with 
happy  originality,  "the  young  couple  had  de- 
parted   upon    their    wedding    journey    amid 

73 


AND    SO   THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

showers  of  rice  and  roses,"  Dr.  North  sought 
his  tired  wife,  busy  clearing  away  the  tokens 
of  the  late  festivities. 

"Come,  Lizzie,"  he  said  kindly,  "we  may  as 
well  get  what  rest  we  can ;  to-morrow  '11  be 
another  day,  and  we've  got  to  go  jogging  on 
about  our  middle-aged  business  as  usual." 

Mrs.  North  looked  up  at  him  with  tearful 
eyes.  "I  can't  seem  to  realise  that  Bessie's 
gone  to  stay,"  she  said  tremulously.  "I  just 
caught  myself  thinking  what  I'd  say  to  her 
when  she  came  home,  and  what  we'd " 

Richard  North  passed  his  arm  about  the 
wife  of  his  youth.  "I — hope  he'll  be  good  to 
her,"  he  said,  his  voice  shaken  with  feeling. 
"I— T  believe  he's  all  right.  If  he  isn't  I'll—" 
He  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders  impatiently. 
"Oh,  I'm  not  a  bit  worried  about  Sam/* 
said  Mrs.  North ;  "I  know  enough  about  men. 
But,  O  Dick,  I'm  going  to  miss  my — 
baby !" 

He  held  her  close  for  a  minute  while  she 
sobbed  on  his  shoulder;  then  the  two  went 
slowly  up  the  stairs  together,  leaving  the  dis- 

74 


AND    SO    THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

ordered  rooms   and  the   fading  roses   in   the 
luminous  dark  of  the  June  night. 

The  Boston  apartment  to  which  young 
Samuel  Brewster  brought  his  bride  in  the  early 
part  of  September  was  of  Miss  Evelyn 
Tripp's  choosing.  The  engineer  had  de- 
murred at  its  distance  from  his  work,  but 
Elizabeth  had  said  she  preferred  to  be  near 
Evelyn ;  and  Evelyn  said  that  the  location,  if 
not  strictly  fashionable,  was  at  least  near  the 
people  they  ought  to  know. 

The  rent  was  thirty-eight  dollars  a  month. 
And  the  rooms  were  small,  inconvenient  and 
old-fashioned.  "But,"  as  Miss  Tripp  kindly 
pointed  out,  "if  one  is  obliged  to  choose  be- 
tween a  small,  old-fashioned  suite  in  a  really 
good  locality  and  a  light  airy  one  in  the  un- 
fashionable suburbs  of  South  Boston  one 
ought  not  to  hesitate." 

Mrs.  North  and  Grandma  Carroll  had  seen 
to  putting  the  furnishings  in  place ;  and  when 
the  two  arrived  at  the  close  of  a  hot  after- 
noon they  found  everything  in  the  exquisite 

75 


AND    SO   THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

9?     ^ 

order  with  which  EHzabeth  had  been  happily 
familiar  all  her  life. 

She  ran  from  room  to  room  laughing  and 
crying  in  the  same  breath.  "Oh,  Sam,  dear; 
do  see,  there  is  ice  in  the  refrigerator  and  a 
cunning  little  jar  of  cream  and  a  print  of 
butter;  and  here  is  a  roast  chicken  and  some 
of  grandma's  rolls  and  one  of  mother's  deli- 
cious lemon  pies !  How  hard  they  must  have 
worked.  I'll  put  on  one  of  these  big  aprons, 
and  we'll  have  supper  in  no  time !" 

And  Sam  Brewster,  as  he  watched  his  wife's 
pretty  little  figure  moving  lightly  about  her 
new  kitchen,  heaved  a  mighty  sigh  of  content. 
"It  seems  almost  too  good  to  be  true !"  he 
murmured.     "And  to  think  it  is  for  alwa^'s !" 

It  was  not  until  they  Had  eaten  their  first 
blissful  meal  together,  and  had  washed  the 
dishes,  also  together,  in  the  dark  little  kitchen 
— an  operation  in  which  the  young  engineer 
covered  himself  with  glory  In  his  masterly 
handling  of  the  dish-towel — that  Elizabeth 
discovered  a  large  square  envelope, bearing  the 
Van  Duser  crest,  and  addressed  to  herself. 

76 


AXD    SO    THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

She  opened  it  in  the  circle  of  Sam's  arms, 
as  the  two  reposed  on  their  one  small  sofa  in 
the  room  bearing  the  dignified  title  of  recep- 
tion hall. 

"Whv — what  in  the  name  of  common  sense 
is  she  giving  us?"  was  Sam  Brewster's  startled 
exclamation  as  his  quick  eye  took  in  the  con- 
tents of  the  sheet. 

''I — I  don't  understand,"  gasped  Elizabeth, 
grov.ing  hot  and  cold  and  faint,  "I  can't 
think — how  it  could  have  happened." 

Yet  Mrs.  Van  Duser's  words,  though  few, 
were  sufficiently  succinct.  They  w^ere  inspired, 
as  she  afterward  confided  to  her  rector.  Dr. 
Gallatin,  by  the  most  altruistic  sentiments  of 
which  the  human  heart  is  capable.  "Truth," 
Mrs.  Van  Duser  had  enunciated  majestically, 
"never  finds  itself  at  a  loss.  And  in  adminis- 
tering so  just  a  rebuke  to  a  young  person 
manifestly  appointed  to  fill  a  humble  station 
in  life  I  feel  that  I  am  in  a  measure  assuming 
the  prerogatives  of  Providence." 

In  this  exalted  role  Mrs.  Van  Duser  had  writ- 
ten   to    Elizabeth    North,    Mhose    miserable, 

77 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

shamed  e^'es  avoided  those  of  her  husband 
after  she  had  reahsed  its  contents.  The  let- 
ter enclosed  a  bill  for  one  hundred  and  twent}'- 
five  dollars  from  Madame  Leonie  Pryse,  for 
the  material,  making  and  findings  for  one  blue 
velvet  reception  gown.  There  was  a  pencilled 
note  attached,  to  the  effect  that  as  Madame 
Pryse  had  been  referred  to  Mrs.  Van  Duser, 
she  begged  to  present  the  bill,  with  the  hope 
that  it  would  be  settled  at  an  early  date.  l\Irs. 
Van  Duser's  own  majestic  hand  had  added  a 
brief  communication,  over  which  the  young 
engineer  scowled  fiercely.     He  read: 

"As  ]\Irs.  Brewster's  personal  expenses, 
either  before  or  after  her  marriage,  can  have 
no  possible  interest  for  Mrs.  Van  Duser,  ]\Irs. 
Van  Duser  begs  to  bring  to  Mrs.  Brewster's 
attention  the  enclosed  statement.  Mrs.  Van 
Duser  wishes  to  inform  Mrs.  Brewster  that  she 
has  taken  the  pains  to  send  for  the  trades- 
woman in  question,  and  that  she  has  elicited 
from  her  facts  which  seem  to  show  an  entire 
misapprehension  of  the  commoner  ethical  re- 
quirements on  the  part  of  the  person  ad- 
dressed. 

78 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

"Mrs.  Van  Duser  begs  to  add  In  the  Inter- 
ests of  society  at  large  and  of  the  person  In 
whom,  as  a  distant  relative,  she  has  interested 
herself  somewhat,  that  she  distinctly  frowns 
upon  all  extravagance.  Mrs.  Van  Duser  trusts 
that  this  communication,  which  she  begs  to  as- 
sure Mrs.  Brewster  is  penned  In  a  spirit  of 
Christian  charity,  will  effectually  prevent 
further  errors  on  the  part  of  so  young  and 
inexperienced  a  person  as  Mrs.  Brewster  ap- 
pears to  be." 

"Well.''"  Samuel  Brewster's  blue  eyes,  grown 
unexpectedly  keen  and  penetrating,  rested 
questloningly  upon  his  bride. 

"Don't  look  at  me  like  that — please,  Saml" 
faltered  Elizabeth.  "I — I  didn't  mean  to  buy 
that  dress :  truly  I  didn't.  I  had  paid  for  all 
the  others,  and  I  had  twenty-seven  dollars  left, 
and  Evelyn  told  me  that  Madame  Pryse  had 
a — a  remnant  of  blue  velvet  which  she  would 
make  up  for  me  for  a  song.  And — I — let  her 
do  It.  I  thought  she  would  send  the  bill  to  me, 
and  I  would " 

"Did  she  send  It  to  you?" 

"Y-yes,  twice.     But  Evelyn  said  for  me  not 

79 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

to  worry.  She  said  Madame  Pryse's  customers 
never  paid  her  right  away,  and  there  was  so 
much  else — just  at  the  last,  I  didn't  like  to 
ask  daddy ;  Uncle  Caleb  always  gives  me  fifty 
dollars  for  my  birthday,  and  I  thought — " 
Elizabeth's  voice  had  grown  fainter  as  she  pro- 
ceeded with  her  halting  explanations.  But  she 
started  up  with  a  little  cry,  "Oh,  Sam !  what 
are  you  going  to  do?" 

For  her  husband  was  examining  the  bill  with 
an  expression  about  his  mouth  which  she  had 
never  seen  there  before.  "I  don't  see  that  you 
have  been  credited  with  the  twenty-seven  dol- 
lars," he  said  quietly.  Then  with  a  sorry  at- 
tempt at  a  smile,  "These  mesdames  appear  to 
pile  up  the  items  sky-high  when  it  comes  to 
building  a  gown ;  better  have  a  cast-iron  con- 
tract with  'em,  I  should  say,  and  pay  up  when 
the  job's  finished." 

Elizabeth's  tear-stained  face  was  hidden  on 
her  husband's  shoulder.  "I — I  spent  the 
twenty-seven  dollars  for — for  gloves,"  she  con- 
fessed. "Evelyn  said  I  didn't  have  enough 
long — ones." 

80 


AXD    SO    THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

''Confound  Evelyn!''  said  the  young  man 
strongly.  "Come,  Betty,  dear,  you're  not  to 
let  this  thing  bother  you,  it  isn't  worth  it.  I'll 
pay  this  bill  to-morrow.  It's  lucky  I've  the 
money  in  the  bank;  and  I'll  write  to  Mrs. 
Van  D.,  too."  He  clenched  his  fist  as  though 
he  would  like  to  use  something  more  powerful 
than  his  pen. 

"But,  Sam,  you  oughtn't  to — I  can't  let  you 
pay — I  or 

"Well,  I  guess  I  can  buy  my  wife  a  dress  if 
I  want  to,  and  that  blue  velvet's  a  stunner. 
You  haven't  worn  it  yet,  have  you,  dear?  but 
when  you  do  you'll  look  like  a  posy  in  it. 
Come,  sweetheart,  this  was  a  tough  proposi- 
tion, I'll  admit,  but  don't  you  let  it  bowl  you 
over  completely.  And,  Betty,  you  won't  tell 
the  Tripp  lady  about  it,  will  you?  I — er — 
couldn't  stand  for  that,  you  know." 

Ehzabeth  stole  one  look  at  the  strong,  kind 
face  bent  toward  her.  For  the  first  time, 
though  happily  not  for  the  last,  she  was  re- 
alising the  immense,  the  immeasurable  comfort 
to  be  found  in  her  husband's  love.  "I'll  never 

81 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

— do  such  a  thing  again,"  she  quavered.  "I 
knew  all  the  time  I  was  being  extravagant ; 
but  I  didn't  expect — I  never  supposed "• 

"You  couldn't  very  well  have  foreseen  the 
Pryse  woman's  astonishing  business  methods, 
nor  Mrs.  Van  D.'s  Christian  forbearance." 
His  tone  was  bitter  as  he  spoke  the  last  words. 
"But  what  I  can't  seem  to  understand  is  how 
that  bill  ever  found  its  way  to  my  esteemed 
sixteenth  cousin." 

Elizabeth's  eyes  overflowed  again.  "I'm 
afraid  it  was  Evelyn,"  she  stammered.  "She 
— told  Madame  Pryse  that  you — were  Mrs. 
Van  Duser's  nephew." 

Sam  Brewster  whistled.  Then  he  fell  into  a 
fit  of  revery  so  prolonged  that  Elizabeth 
nestled  uneasily  in  the  strong  circle  of  his 
arm.  He  was  reviewing  the  events  of  the  im- 
mediate past  in  the  cold  light  of  the  present, 
and  the  result  was  not  altogether  compli- 
mentary to  Miss  Tripp. 

"I  say,  little  girl,"  he  said  at  length,  look- 
ing down  at  the  tear-stained  face  against  his 
shoulder,  "I  don't  want  to  be  disagreeable,  but 

82 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

— er — I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  see  why  Miss 
Tripp  should  interest  herself  so — intimately 
— in  our  affairs.  Don't  you  think  you  might 
— er — discourage  her  a  bit?" 

Elizabeth  sighed  reminiscently.  "I  wouldn't 
hurt  Evelyn's  feelings  for  the  world,"  she 
said,  "but  I— I'll  try." 


ii& 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  very  next  morning  as  Elizabeth  was  en- 
gaged in  putting  the  finishing  touches  upon 
the  arrangements  of  her  new  home,  with  all 
the  keen  delight  of  nest-building,  so  strong  in 
some  women  and  so  utterly  lacking  in  others, 
Miss  Evelyn  Tripp  was  announced,  and  a 
moment  later  stepped  airily  from  the  laborious 
little  elevator.  "Oh,  here  you  arc  at  last,  you 
darling  girl !"  she  exclaimed,  clasping  and 
kissing  Elizabeth  with  empressement.  "I  knew 
you  were  expected  last  night — indeed,  I  was 
here  all  the  morning  helping,  but  as  I  told 
your  mother  and  that  dear,  quaint  grandmam- 
ma of  yours,  I  wouldn't  have  intruded  upon 
your  very  first  evening  for  the  world!  How 
delightfully  well  and  pretty  you  are  looking, 
and  isn't  this  the  sweetest  little  place?  and  oh ! 
I  nearly  forgot,  did  you  find  Mrs.  Van 
Duser's  note?  I  assure  you  I  pounced  upon 
that,  and  took  good  care  to  put  it  where  you 

84 


AND    SO    THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

would  both  see  it  the  very  first  thing.  I  don't 
mind  confessing  that  I  am  simply  devoured 
with  curiosity.  Was  it  a  cheque,  dear?  And 
is  she  going  to  do  something  nice  for  you  in 
a  social  way?" 

Elizabeth's  cheeks  burned  uncomfortably. 
"It  was  only  a — a  friendly — at  least  I  think 
— I  am  sure  she  meant  it  to  be  a  friendly  let- 
ter. She  said  so,  anyway.  Sam  put  it  in  his 
pocket  and  took  it  away  with  him,"  she  made 
haste  to  add,  forestalling  the  urgent  appeal  in 
Miss  Tripp's  luminous  gaze. 

"Well,  I  am  sure  that  was  most  sweet  and 
gracious  of  Mrs.  Van  Duser.  Didn't  you  find 
it  so, my  dear?  So  dear  of  her  to  personally  wel- 
come you  to  Boston!  You'll  call,  of  course, 
ds  soon  as  she  returns  from  her  country  place. 
She  will  expect  it,  I  am  sure ;  such  women  are 
most  punctilious  in  their  code  of  social  require- 
ments, and  you  can't  be  too  careful  not  to  of- 
fend. You'll  forgive  me  for  saying  this  much, 
won't  you,  dear?" 

Ehzabeth  was  conscious  of  a  distinct  sense- 

of  displeasure  as  she  met  Miss  Tripp's  anx- 

85 


AND   SO  TKEV   WERE   MARRIED 

iously  solicitous  eyes.  "You  are  very  good, 
l!ivelyn,"  she  said,  "but  Sam — Mr.  Brewster 
— thinks  it  will  be  best  for  us  not  to — "  She 
paused,  her  candid  face  suffused  with  blushes. 
'''I'd — prefer  not  to  talk  about  Mrs.  Van 
IDuser,  if  you  please.  We  don't  ever  expect 
fto  go  and  see  her." 

The  tactful  Miss  Tripp  looked  sadly  puzzled, 
but  she  felt  that  it  would  not  be  the  part  of 
wisdom  to  press  the  issue  for  the  moment.  Her 
iface  w^reathed  itself  anew  in  forgiving  smiles 
.as  she  flitted  about  the  little  rooms,  "/^w'f 
tthis  the  most  convenient,  cosy  little  apart- 
:ment.''"  she  twittered.  "I  am  so  glad  I  was 
able  to  secure  it  for  you ;  I  assure  you  I  was 
^obliged  to  use  all  of  my  diplomacy  with  the 
agent.  And  your  pretty  things  do  light  up 
the  dark  corners  so  nicely.  And  speaking  of 
.corners  somehow  reminds  me,  I  have  found 
you  a  perfect  treasure  of  a  maid ;  but  you 
must  take  her  at  once.  She's  a  cousin  of  our 
Marie,  and  has  always  been  employed  by  the 
best  people.  She  was  with  Mrs,  Paget  Smythe 
last,  I  believe.     She  told  Marie  last  night  that 

86 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED 

she  would  be  willing  to  come  to  you  for  only 
twenty  dollars  a  month,  and  that's  very  rea- 
sonable, considering  the  fact  that  she  is  will- 
ing to  do  part  of  the  laundry  work, — the 
towels,  sheets  and  plain  things,  you  know. 
Expensive?  Indeed  it's  not,  dear — for  Bos- 
ton. Why,  I  could  tell  you  of  plenty  of  people 
who  are  glad  to  pay  twenty-five  and  put  all 
their  laundry  out.  I'd  advise  you  to  engage 
Annita  without  delay.  Really,  you  couldn't 
do  better." 

Elizabeth  shook  her  head.  "I  mean  to  do  my 
own  work,"  she  said  decidedly.  "I  shall  want 
something  to  do  while  Sam  is  away,  and  why 
not  this  when  I — like  it?" 

"But  you  won't  like  it  after  a  while,  my  poor 
child,  when  the  shine  is  once  worn  off  your 
new  pans  and  things,  and  think  of  your  hands  ! 
It's  absolutely  impossible  to  keep  one's  nails 
in  any  sort  of  condition,  and  besides  the  heat 
from  the  gas-range  is  simply  ruinous  for  the 
complexion.  Didn't  you  know  that?  Of 
course  you  are  all  milk  and  roses  now,  but 
how  long  do  you  suppose  that  will  last,  if  ycu 

87 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED 

are  to  be  cooped  up  in  a  hot,  stuffy  little 
kitchen  from  morning  till  night?"  Miss 
Tripp  paused  dramatically,  her  eyes  wide 
with  sympathy  and  apprehension. 

"But  we — I  am  sure  we  oughtn't  to  afford 
to  keep  a  maid,"  demurred  Elizabeth  in  a 
small,  weak  voice.     "So  please  don't " 

"Oh,  of  course,  it  is  nothing  to  me,  my 
dear,"  and  Miss  Tripp  arose  with  a  justly 
offended  air.  "I  thought  I  was  doing  you  a 
kindness  when  I  asked  Annita  to  call  and  see 
you  this  morning.  It  will  be  perfectly  easy 
for  you  to  tell  her  that  you  don't  care  to  en- 
gage her.  But  when  it  comes  to  affording, 
I  think  you  can  scarcely  afford  to  waste  your 
good  looks  over  a  cooking  range.  It  is  your 
duty  to  ^J^our  husband  to  keep  yourself  young 
and  lovely  as  long  as  you  possibly  can.  It  is 
only  too  easy  to  lose  it  all,  and  then — "  Miss 
Tripp  concluded  her  remarks  with  a  shrug 
of  her  shapely  shoulders,  which  aroused 
the  too  impressionable  Elizabeth  to  vague 
alarms. 

^'I  am  sure,"  faltered  the  bride  of  two  months, 

88 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

"that  Sam  would  like  me  just  as  well  even  if 

I " 

"Of  course  jou  think  so,  dear,  every  woman 
does  till  it  is  too  late,^^  observed  Miss  Tripp 
plaintively.  "I'm  sure  I  hope  it  will  turn 
out  differently  in  your  case.  But  I  could 
tell  you  tilings  about  some  of  my  married 
friends  that  would —  Well,  all  I  have  to  say 
is  that  I  never  dared  try  it — matrimony,  I 
mean — and  if  I  were  in  your  place —  But 
there !  I  micstnH  meddle.  I  solemnly  promised 
myself  years  and  years  ago  that  I  wouldn't. 
The  trouble  with  me  is  that  I  love  my  friends 
too  fondly,  and  I  simply  cannot  endure  to  see 
them  making  mistakes  which  might  so  easily 
have  been  avoided.  I'm  coming  to  take  you 
out  to-morrow,  and  we'll  lunch  down  town  in 
the  nicest,  most  inexpensive  little  place.  And 
— dear,  if  you  finally  decide  not  to  engage 
Annita,  would  you  mind  telling  her  that 
through  a  slight  misunderstanding  you  had 
secured  some  one  else?  These  high-class  ser- 
vants are  so  easily  offended,  you  know,  and  on 
account  of  our  Marie — a  perfect  treasure — 

89 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED 

Oh,      thank     you!       Au     revoir — till      to- 
morrow !" 

Perhaps  it  is  not  altogether  to  be  wondered 
at  that  immediately  after  Miss  Tripp's  depart- 
ure Elizabeth  found  occasion  to  glance  into 
her  mirror.  Yes,  she  was  undoubtedly  pret- 
tier than  ever,  she  decided,  but  suppose  it 
should  be  true  about  the  withering  heat  of  the 
gas-range;  and  then  there  were  the  rose- 
tinted,  polished  nails,  to  which  Elizabeth  had 
only  lately  begun  to  pay  particular  atten- 
tion. The  day's  work  had  already  left  per- 
ceptible blemishes  upon  their  dainty  perfec- 
tion. Elizabeth  recalled  her  mother's  hands, 
marred  with  constant  household  labour,  with 
a  kind  of  terror.  Her  own  would  look  the 
same  before  many  years  had  passed,  and  would 
Sam — could  he  love  her  just  the  same  when 
the  delicate  beauty  of  which  he  was  so  fond 
and  proud  had  faded.?  And  what,  after  all, 
was  twenty  dollars  a  month  when  one  looked 
upon  it  as  the  price  of  one's  happiness.? 

Elizabeth  sat  down  soberly  with  pencil  and 
paper  to  contemplate  the  matter  arithmeti- 

90 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIEH 

^    <:? 

cally.      Thirty-eight    dollars    for    rent,    and" 
twenty  dollars  for  a  maid,  subtracted  from  one- 
hundred  and  twenty — the  latter  sum  repre- 
senting the  young  engineer's  monthly  salary 
— left  an  undeniable  balance  of  sixty-two  dol- 
lars to  be  expended  in  food,  clothing  and  other 
expenses.     After  half  an  hour  of  careful  cal- 
culation, based  on  what  she  could  remember  of 
Innisfield  prices,  Elizabeth  had  reached  very 
satisfactory     conchisions.       Clothing     would 
cost  next  to  nothing — for  the  first  year,  at 
least,  and  food  for  two  came  to  a  ridiculously 
small  sum.     There  appeared,  in  short,  to  be  a 
very  handsome  remainder  left  over  for  what 
Sam  called  "contingencies."     This  would  in- 
clude, of  course,  the  fixed  amount  wliich  they 
had  prudently  resolved  to  lay  by  on  the  arrival 
of  every  cheque.     This  much  had  already  been 
settled  between  them.     Sam  had  a  promising 
nest-egg   in    a    Boston   bank,    and   both    had 
dreams  of  its  ultimate  hatching  into  a  house 
and  lot,   or  into   some  comfortable   interest- 
bearing  bonds.     Elizabeth  was  firmly  resolved 
to  be  prudent  and  helpful  to  her  husband  in 

91 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

^very  possible  way ;  but  was  it  not  her  duty 
to  keep  herself  young  and  lovely  as  long  as 
possible?  The  idea  so  cogently  presented  to 
her  attention  by  Miss  Tripp  not  an  hour 
since  appeared  to  have  become  so  much  her 
own  that  she  did  not  recognise  it  as  borrowed 
property. 

It  was  at  this  psychological  instant  that  a 
second  summons  announced  the  presence  of  a 
certain  Annlta  McMurtry  in  the  entrance  hall 
below.  '*Did  Mrs.  Brewster  wish  to  see  this 
person  ?" 

Elizabeth  hesitated  for  the  fraction  of  a 
minute.  "You  may  tell  her  to  come  up,"  was 
the  message  that  finally  found  its  way  to  the 
hall-boy's  attentive  ear. 

Annlta  McMurtry  was  a  neatly  attired  young 
woman,  with  a  penetrating  black  eye,  a  ready 
smile  and  a  well-poised,  not  to  say  supercilious 
bearing.  In  response  to  Elizabeth's  timid 
questions  she  vouchsafed  the  explanation  that 
she  could  "do  everything"  and  was  prepared 
"to  take  full  charge." 

"And  by  that  you  mean  ?" 

92 


AND   SO   THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

''I  mean  that  the  lady  where  I  work  doesn't 
have  to  worry  herself  about  anything.  I  take 
full  charge  of  everything — ordering,  cooking, 
,  laundry  and  waiting  on  table,  and  I  don't 
mind  wiping  up  the  floors  in  a  small  apart- 
ment like  this.  Window-cleaning  and  rugs  the 
janitor  attends  to,  of  course." 

"When — could  you  come,  if  I — decide  to 
engage  you.?"  asked  EHzabeth,  finding  herself 
vaguel}^  uncomfortable  under  the  scrutiny  of 
the  alert  black  eyes. 

"If  you  please,  madam,  I'd  rather  speak  first 
about  wages  and  days  out.  I'd  like  my  alter- 
nate Thursdays  and  three  evenings  a  week; 
and  will  you  be  going  to  theatres  often  with 
supper  parties  after.?  I  don't  care  for  that, 
unless  I  get  paid  extra.  I  left  my  last  place 
on  account  of  it ;  I  can't  stand  it  to  be  up  all 
hours  of  the  night  and  do  my  work  next  day." 

"I  should  think  not!"  returned  Elizabeth, 
with  ready  sympathy.  "We  should  not  re- 
quire anything  of  the  sort.  As  to  wages. 
Miss  Tripp  said  you  would  be  willing  to  come 
for  twenty  dollars.     It  seemed  very  high  to 

93 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

me  for  only  two  in  the  family."  Elizabeth 
spoke  in  a  very  dignified  way  ;  she  felt  that  she 
appeared  quite  the  experienced  housekeeper  in 
the  eyes  of  the  maid,  who  was  surveying  her 
with  a  faint,  inscrutable  smile. 

"I  never  work  for  a  family  where  there  is 
more  than  two,"  said  Miss  McMurtry 
pointedly.  "I  could  make  my  thirty-five  a 
month  easy  if  I  would.  But  Miss  Tripp  must 
have  misunderstood  me )  twenty -two  was  what 
I  said,  but  you'll  find  I  earn  it.  I'll  come  to- 
morrow morning  about  this  time,  and  thank 
you  kindly,  madam."  The  young  woman 
arose  with  a  proud  composure  of  manner, 
which  put  the  finishing  touch  upon  the  inter- 
view, and  accomplished  her  exit  with  the  prac- 
tised ease  of  a  society  woman. 

"I  wonder  if  I  ought  to  have  done  it.''  And 
what  will  Sam  say.?"  Elizabeth  asked  herself, 
ready  to  run  undignifiedly  after  the  girl,  whose 
retiring  footsteps  were  already  dying  away 
down  the  corridor.  But  Sam  was  found  to  be 
of  the  opinion  that  his  Elizabeth  had  done  ex- 
actly right.     He  hadn't  th/*ught  of  hiring  a 

94 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

serv^ant,  to  be  sure,  but  he  ought,  manifestly, 
to  have  been  reminded  of  his  omission.  It  was 
surely  not  to  be  expected  that  a  man's  wife 
should  spend  her  time  and  strength  toiling 
over  his  food  in  a  dark  little  den  of  a  kitchen. 
No  decent  fellow  would  stand  for  that  sort  of 
thin  cr.  He  wanted  his  wife  to  have  time  to 
go  out,  he  said;  to  enjoy  herself;  to  see  pic- 
tures and  hear  music.  As  for  the  expense,  he 
guessed  they  could  swing  it;  he  was  sure  to 
get  another  rise  in  salary  before  long.  And 
much  more  of  the  same  sort,  all  of  which 
proved  pleasantly  soothing  to  EHzabeth's 
somewhat  disturbed  conscience. 

"I  suppose  Grandma  Carroll  would  say  I 
was  a  lazy  girl,"  she  sighed. 

"You  didn't  marry  Grandma  Carroll,  dear," 
Sam  told  her,  with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his 
eyes  which  EHzabeth  thought  delightfully 
witty. 


95 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Whatever  the  opinion  of  the  unthinking 
many  on  the  subject  of  honest  work  as  re- 
lated to  the  happiness  of  the  individual,  there 
can  be  but  one  just  conclusion  as  to  the  effect 
of  continued  idleness,  whether  it  be  illustrated 
in  the  person  of  the  perennially  tired  gentle- 
man who  frequents  our  back  doors  at  certain 
seasons  of  the  year,  or  in  the  refined  woman 
who  has  emptied  her  hands  of  all  rightful  ac- 
tivities. 

At  the  end  of  her  first  week's  experience  with 
her  new  maid  Elizabeth  found  herself  for  the 
first  time  in  her  wholesome,  well-ordered  life 
at  a  loss  for  something  to  do.  When  Miss 
McMurtry  stated  that  she  would  take  full 
charge  of  Mrs.  Brewster's  menage  she  meant 
what  she  said,  and  Elizabeth's  inexperienced 
efforts  to  play  the  role  of  mistress,  as  she  had 
conceived  it,  met  with  a  civil  but  firm  resist- 
ance on  the  part  of  the  maid. 

96 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Brewster,  I  had  expected  to  wipe 
up  the  dining-room  floor  this  morning,  after 
I  have  finished  my  kitchen  work,"  she  would 
announce  frostily,  in  response  to  Ehzabeth's 
timid  suggestion.     "I  have  my  regular  days 
for  things,  an'  I  don't  need  to  be  told.     I've 
already  spoken  to  the  janitor's  boy  about  the 
rugs,  an'  you'll  please  to  leave  some  money 
with  me  to  pay  him.   Just  put  it  on  the  kitchen 
dresser."     And  "No,  madam,  I  shall  not  have 
time  to  make  an  apple-pie  this  morning ;  I 
generally  order  pastry  of  the  baker  when  it's 
called  for.     Yes,  Mrs.  Brewster,  those  were 
baker's  rolls  you  had  on  the  breakfast-table. 
I  ordered  the  man  to  stop  regularly.  You  pre- 
fer home-made  bread,  you  say?  I'm  sorry,  but 
I  never  bake.     It  is  quite  unnecessary  in  the 

city." 

The  young  woman's  emphasis  on  the  last 
word  dehcately  conveyed  her  knowledge^  of 
Mrs.  Brewster's  country  origin,  and  her  pity- 
ing disapproval  of  it. 

Miss  Tripp,  to  whom  Elizabeth  confided  her 
new  perplexities,  merely  laughed  indulgently. 

97 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

"You  mustn't  interfere,  if  you  want  Annita  to 
stay  with  you,"  she  counselled.  "Just  keep 
religiously  out  of  your  kitchen,  my  dear,  and 
everything  will  go  on  peacefully.  We  never 
think  of  such  a  thing  as  dictating  to  Marie, 
and  we're  careful  not  to  make  too  many  sug- 
gestions. Of  course  you  don't  know  what  a 
perfectly  dreadful  time  people  are  having  with 
servants  here  in  town.  My  dear,  I  could  tell 
you  things  that  would  frighten  you!  Just 
fancy  having  your  prettiest  lingerie  disappear 
bit  by  bit,  and  your  silk  stockings  worn  to 
rags,  and  not  daring  to  say  a  word !" 

"I  have  lost  two  handkerchiefs  since  Annita 
came,"  said  Elizabeth  doubtfully. 

"Oh,  handkerchiefs,  nobody  expects  to  keep 
those  forever.  Really,  do  you  know  when  I 
treat  myself  to  a  half  dozen  new  ones  I  con- 
ceal them  from  Marie  as  long  as  I  possibly 
can,  for  fear  she'll  decide  I  have  too  many." 

Elizabeth's  artlessly  inquiring  gaze  provoked 
another  burst  of  well-bred  merriment.  "You 
dear  little  innocent,  you  do  amuse  me  so ! 
Don't  you  see  our  good  Marie  doesn't  propose 

98 


AXD   SO  THEY  WERE   MARRIED 

to  encourage  me  in  senseless  extravagance  in 
laundry :  vou  see  there  is  no  telling  to  what 
lengths  I  might  go  if  left  to  myself,  and  it  all 
takes  Marie's  time.  No,  I  don't  pretend  to 
Icnow  what  she  does  with  them  all.  Gives  them 
to  her  relations,  perhaps.  She  couldnt  use 
them  all,  and  I  give  her  a  half  dozen  at  Christ- 
mas every  year.  Why,  they're  all  that  way, 
and  both  Marie  and  Annita  would  draw  the 
line  at  one's  best  silk  stockings,  I  am  sure.  We 
think  Marie  perfectly  honest;  that  is  to  say, 
I  would  trust  her  with  everything  I  have,  feel- 
in  «•  sure  that  she  would  use  her  discretion  in 
selecting  for  herself  only  the  things  I  ought 
not  to  want  any  longer.  They  know,  I  can 
tell  you,  and  they  despise  parsimonious  people 
who  try  to  make  their  old  things  do  forever. 
You  may  as  well  make  up  your  mind  to  it,  my 
dear,  and  when  you  are  fortunate  enough  to 
secure  a  really  good,  competent  servant  like 
Annita,  you  mustn't  see  too  much." 

Just  why  Elizabeth  upon  the  heels  of  this 
enlishtenins  conversation  should  have  elected 
to  purchase  for  herself  two  new  handkerchiefs 

99 


AND   SO   THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

of  a  somcwha.t  newer  pattern  than  the  ones 
she  had  lost  was  not  entirely  clear  even  to  her- 
self. 

Thiere  had  been  a  new,  crisp  bill  in  her  purse 
for  a  number  of  weeks  nestling  comfortabl}'^ 
against  the  twin  gold  pieces  her  father  had 
given  her  on  the  day  of  her  wedding.  Sam 
had  put  it  there  himself,  and  had  joked  with 
her  on  her  economical  habits  when  he  had 
found  it  unbroken  on  what  he  laughingly 
called  her  next  pay  day.  "Seriously,  though, 
little  wife  of  mine,  I  never  want  you  to  be  out 
of  money,"  he  had  said ;  "if  I  am  cad  enough 
to  forget  you  mustn't  hesitate  to  remind  me. 
And  you  need  never  feel  obliged  to  tell  me 
what  you've  done  with  it." 

This  v/asn't  the  ideal  arrangement  for  either ; 
but  neither  husband  nor  wife  was  aware  of  it, 
nor  of  the  fact  that  in  the  small,  dainty  purse 
which  lay  open  between  them  lurked  a  possible 
danger  to  their  common  happiness.  Elizabeth 
had  been  brought  up  in  the  old-fashioned  w^ay, 
her  wants  supplied  by  her  careful  mother,  and 
an  occasional  pocket-piece  by  her  overworked 

100 


AND   SO   THEY  WERE   MARRIED 

father,  who  always  referred  to  the  coins 
transferred  from  his  pocket  to  her  own  as 
"money  to  buy  a  stick  of  candy  with."  The 
sum  represented  by  the  twin  gold  pieces  and 
the  crisp  bills  appeared  to  contain  unhmited 
opportunities  for  enjoyment.  A  bunch  of 
carnations  for  the  dining  table  and  a  box  of 
bonbons  excused  the  long  stroll  down  Tremont 
Street,  during  which  :Miss  Tripp  carried  on 
the  education  of  her  protegee  on  subjects  ur- 
ban without  interruption. 

"If  I  had  only  thought  to  stop  at  the  bank 
this  morning,"  observed  :Miss  Tripp  regret- 
fully, "I  should  simply  have  insisted  upon 
your  lunching  with  me  at  Purcell's ;  then  we 
might  have  gone  to  the  matinee  afterward; 
there  is  the  dearest,  brightest  little  piece  on 
now— '.Mademoiselle  Rosette.'  You  haven't 
heard  it?  What  a  pity !  This  is  the  very  last 
matinee.  Never  mind,  dear,  I  sha'n't  be  so 
thoughtless  another  day." 

"But  why  shouldn't  I—"  began  Ehzabeth 
tardily;  then  with  a  deep  blush.  "I  have 
plenty    of    money    with    me,    and    I    should 

101 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE   MARRIED 

be  so  happy  if  you  would  lunch  with  me, 
and " 

"My  dear,  I  couldn't  think  of  it !  I  mustn't 
allow  you  to  be  extravagant,"  demurred  Miss 
Tripp.  But  in  the  end  she  yielded  prettily, 
and  Elizabeth  forthwith  tasted  a  new  pleasure, 
which  is  irresistibly  alluring  to  most  generous 
women. 

That  evening  at  dinner  her  eyes  were  so 
bright  and  her  laughing  mouth  so  red  that 
her  young  husband  surveyed  her  with  new  ad- 
miration. "What  did  you  find  to  amuse  you  to- 
day in  this  big,  dull  town.^^"  he  wanted  to  know. 

"It  isn't  dull  at  all,  Sam,  and  I've  had  the 
loveliest  time  with  Evelyn,"  she  told  him,  and 
added  a  spirited  account  of  the  opera  seen 
with  the  un jaded  eyes  of  the  country-bred 
girl.  "I've  never  had  an  opportunity  to  go 
to  theatres  and  operas  before,"  she  concluded, 
"and  Evelyn  thinks  I  ought  to  see  all  the  best 
things  as  a  matter  of  education." 

"I  think  so  too,"  beamed  the  unselfish  Sam, 
"and  I  hope  you'll  go  often  now  that  you  have 
the  chance." 

102 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

"I  may  as  well,  I  suppose,  now  that  I  have 
Annita,"  Elizabeth  said.  ''It's  dreadfully 
dull  here  at  home  when  you  are  gone.  I've 
nothing  to  do  at  all." 

Sam  pinched  her  pink  ear  gently  as  the  two 
strolled  away  from  the  table.  "How  does  the 
new  kitchen  mechanic  suit  you?"  he  asked. 
The  m.eat  had  been  overdone,  the  vegetables 
watery  and  the  coffee  of  an  indifferent  colour 
and  flavour,  he  thought  privately. 

"Why,  she  seems  to  know  exactly  what  to  do, 
and  when  to  do  it,"  Elizabeth  said  rather 
discontentedly,  "and  she's  very  neat;  but  did 
you  like  that  custard,  Sam?  I  thought  it  was 
horrid ;  I'm  sure  she  didn't  strain  it,  and  it  was 
cooked  too  much." 

"Since  you  put  it  to  me  so  pointedly,  I'm 
bound  to  confess  that  the  present  incumbent 
isn't  a  patch  on  the  last  lady  who  cooked  for 
me,"  confessed  her  husband,  laughing  at  the 
puzzled  look  in  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  you  mean  me!  I'm  glad  you  like  my 
cooking,  Sam.  I  should  feel  dreadfully  if  you 
didn't.     But  about  Annita,  I  am  afraid  she 

103 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

won't  allow  me  to  teach  her  any  of  the  things 
I  know ;  and  when  I  said  I  meant  to  make  a 
sponge-cake  this  morning,  she  said  she  was 
going  to  use  the  oven.  But  she  wasn't,  for  I 
went  out  and  looked  afterward.  Then  she 
said  right  out  that  she  wasn't  used  to  having 
ladies  in  her  kitchen,  and  that  it  made  her 


nervous." 


"Hum !"  commented  the  mere  man ;  "you'd 
better  ask  your  father  to  prescribe  for  the 
young  person ;  and  in  the  meanwhile  I  should 
frequent  'her  kitchen'  till  she  had  gradually 
accustomed  herself  to  the  idea." 

"She  would  leave  if  I  did  that,  Sam." 

"There  are  others." 

"Not  like  Annita,"  objected  Elizabeth,  witli 
the  chastened  air  of  a  three-dimensioned  ex- 
perience. "You've  no  idea  of  tlie  dreadful 
times  people  have  with  servants  here  in  Boston. 
And,  really,  one  oughtn't  to  expect  an  angel 
to  work  in  one's  kitchen  for  twenty-two  dol- 
lars a  month  ;  do  you  think  so,  Sam  ?" 

Her  uplifted  eyes  and  earnest  lips  and  rose- 
tinted  cheeks  were  so  altogether  charming  as 

104 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

Z>  ^ 
she  propounded  this  somewhat  absurd  ques- 
tion that  Sam  said,  "Speaking  of  angels  puts 
me  in  mind  of  the  fact  that  I  have  one  right 
in  hand,"  and  much  more  of  the  good,  old- 
fashioned  nonsense  which  makes  the  heart  beat 
quicker  and  the  eyes  glow  and  sparkle  with 
unreasoning  joy  when  the  heart  is  young. 

Half  an  hour  had  passed  in  this  agreeable 
manner  when  Elizabeth  bethought  herself  to 
ask,  "What  had  I  better  do  about  the  butcher's 
and  grocer's  slips,  Sam  dear?  Annita  says 
that  in  all  the  places  where  she  has  worked  they 
always  run  bills;  but  if  we  aren't  to  do 
that " 

"And  we're  not,  you  know ;  we  agreed  about 
that,  Ehzabeth?" 

"Yes,  of  course ;  but  Annita  brought  me 
several  when  I  came  in  to-day ;  I  had  forgot- 
ten all  about  them.  Do  you  think  I  ought  to 
stay  at  home  every  day  till  after  the  butcher 
and  grocer  and  baker  have  been  here.^  Some- 
times they  don't  call  till  ^ter  twelve  o'clock." 

This  was  manifestly  absurd,  and  he  said  so 
emphatically.     The  result  of  his  subsequent 

105 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

cogitations  was  an  order  to  Annita  to  leave 
the  slips  on  his  desk,  where  they  would  be  at- 
tended to  each  evening.  "Mind,"  he  said, 
"I  don't  want  Mrs.  Brewster  annoyed  with 
anything  of  the  sort." 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  can  see  that  Mrs.  Brewster 
has  not  been  used  to  being  worrited  about 
anything,  an'  no  more  she  ought,"  the  young 
woman  had  replied  with  an  air  of  respectful 
affection  for  her  mistress  which  struck  Sam 
as  being  no  less  than  admirable.  It  materially 
assisted  him  in  his  efforts  to  swallow  Annita's 
muddy  coffee  of  a  morning  and  her  leaden 
puddings  at  night.  All  this,  while  EHzabeth 
light-heartedly  entered  upon  what  Miss  Tripp 
was  pleased  to  call  her  "first  Boston  season." 

There  was  so  much  to  be  learned,  so  much  to 
be  seen,  so  much  to  enjoy  ;  and  the  new  gowns 
and  hats  and  gloves  were  so  exactly  the  thing 
for  the  matinees,  teas,  card-parties  and  lunch- 
eons to  which  she  found  herself  asked  with  un- 
looked-for cordiality.  She  could  hardly  have 
been  expected  to  know  that  her  open  sesame  to 
even  this  circle  without  a  circle  consisted  in  a 

106 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

low-voiced  allusion  to   the   sidereally   remote 
""■Mrs.  Van  Duser,  "a  connection  by  marriage, 

my  dear." 
It  was  on  a  stormy  afternoon  in  late  Febru- 
ary when  Dr.  North,  unannounced  and  dis- 
^'daining  the  noisy  little  elevator,  climbed  the 
three  flights  of  stairs  to  his  daughter's  apart- 
ment and  tapped  Hghtly  on  the  corridor  door. 
His  summons  was  answered  by  an  alert  young 
woman   in   a   frilled   cap    and   apron.      Mrs. 
'    Brewster  was  giving  a  luncheon,  she  mformed 
him,  and  could  see  no  one. 

"But  I  am  :\Irs.  Brewster's  father,  and  she  11 
want  to  see  me,"  the  good  doctor  had  insisted, 
sniffing  dehcately  at  the  odours  of  salad  and 
coffee  which  floated  out  to  him  from  the 
gingerly  opened  door.  "Go  tell  your  mistress 
that  Dr.  North  is  here  and  would  like  to  see 

her." 

In  another  minute  a  fashionable  little  figure 
in  palest  rose-colour  had  thrown  two  pretty 
lace-clad  arms  about  his  neck.  "Oh,  you 
dear,  old  darling  daddy!  why  didnH  you  let 
me  know  you  were  coming?     Now  I've  this 

107 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

luncheon  party,  with  bridge  after  it,  and  I 
can't —  But  you  must  come  in  and  wait ;  I'll 
tuck  you  away  somewhere — in  my  bedroom, 
or " 

"I  can't  stay,  Bess — at  least  not  long.  I've 
a  consultation  at  the  hospital  at  three.  But 
I'll  tell  you,  I'll  be  back  at  five ;  how'll  that 
do?  I've  a  message  from  your  mother, 
and " 

Elizabeth  shrugged  her  shoulders  dis- 
tractedly. "They  won't  go  a  minute  before 
six,"  she  said;  "but  come  then — to  dinner. 
Be  sure  now !" 

The  doctor  was  hungry,  he  had  had  no 
lunch,  and  despite  the  warmth  of  his  welcome 
there  was  a  perceptible  chill  about  his  aging 
heart  as  he  slowly  made  his  way  down  the 
stairs. 

"I'm  afraid  I'll  not  be  able  to  make  it,"  he 
told  himself ;  "my  train  goes  at  six-fifty,  and 
— bless  me!  I've  just  time  for  a  bite  at  a, 
restaurant  before  I'm  due  at  the  hospital." 


108 


CHAPTER  IX 


A  LOVING  letter  from  his  daughter  followed 
Dr.  North  to  Innisfield.     In  it  Elizabeth  had 
described   her    disappointment    in   not   being 
able  to  see  more  of  her  darling  daddy.     They 
had  waited  dinner  for  him  that  night,  she  said, 
and   Sam  was   dreadfully   put   out   about   it. 
"He  ahnost  scolded  me  for  not  bringing  you 
right   in.      But  how  could  I,  with  all  those 
women?   You  wouldn't  have  enjoyed  it,  daddy 
dear;  I  know  you  too  well.     Next  time— and 
I  hope  it  wilfbe  soon— you  must  telephone 
me.    We  have  a  'phone  in  our  apartment  now, 
and  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how  we  ever  lived 
without  it.     You  see  I  have  so  many  engage- 
ments that  even  if  I  didn't  happen  to  be  en- 
tertaining, I  might  not  be  at  home,   which 
would  be  just  as  bad." 

The  rest  of  the  sheet  was  filled  with  a  gay 
description  of  the  automobile  show,  which  was 
"really  quite  a  function  this  year,"  and  of  her 

109 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

<;?    ^ 
success  as  a  hostess.    "Evel3rii  says  I've  made 
immense  progress,  and  she's  quite  proud  of 
me." 

There  was  a  short  silence  as  Mrs.  North 
folded  the  letter  and  slipped  it  into  its  envel- 
epe. 

"But  I  don't  understand  why  you  didn't  go 
back  and  take  dinner  with  them,  as  Bessie 
asked  you  to  do,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  re- 
proachful tone.  "You  ought  to  have  mads 
an  effort,  Richard." 

The  doctor's  grizzled  brows  lifted  humor- 
ously as  he  glanced  across  the  breakfast  tablt 
at  his  wife's  worried  face.  "Ought  to  have 
made  an  effort — eh?"  he  repeated.  "Well, 
didn't  I?  I  wanted  to  see  Bess  the  worst  way, 
but  it  seems  she  didn't  want  to  see  me — at 
least  not  at  the  time  I  arrived.  So  I  went  my 
way,  got  my  lunch,  met  Grayson  at  the  hos- 
pital at  two-thirty,  finished  the  operation  at 
four,  ran  over  to  Avery's  and  left  an  order, 
then " 

"But  why " 

*'I  could  have  gone  back  to  Bess  then,  and  I 
110 


AND    SO    THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

wanted  to :  but  she  didn't  invite  me  to  come 
till  six,  and  I  knew  I  must  make  that  six- 
twentv  train,  for  I'd  promised  Mrs.  Baxter  I'd 
call  in  the  evening.  So  you  see,  my  dear,  I  was 
up  ao-ainst  it,  as  the  boys  say." 
"Did  she  look  well,  Richard?"  asked  his  wife 

anxiously. 

'•Perfectly  well,  I  should  say." 

"And  did'^she  tell  you  when  we  might  expect 
her  at  home  for  a  little  visit?" 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "I  didn't^  have 
a  chance  to  ask  any  questions,  my  dear.'^'  He 
arose  and  pushed  back  his  chair.  "Well,  I 
must  be  going.  When  you  write  to  Bess  tell 
her  it's  all  right,  and  she's  not  to  worry.  I'll 
take  care  to  let  her  know  next  time  I'm  com- 
ino-  ^'    He  went  out  and  closed  the  door  heavily 

behind  him. 

Grandma  Carroll,  who  had  listened  to  the 
conversation  without  comment,  pursed  up  her 
small,  wise  mouth.  "That  reminds  me,  daugh- 
ter, I  think  I  shall  go  to  Boston  to-day,"  she 
observed  briskly. 

"To  Bo.ton— to-day?"  echoed  her  daughter 

111 


AND    SO   THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

in  surprise.  "I  don't  believe  I  can  possibly  get 
away  to  go  with  you.  mother.  INIalvina  Ben- 
nett is  coming  to  fix  my  black  skirt ;  besides, 
there  's  the  baking  and " 

"You  needn't  to  feel  that  you  must  put 
yourself  out  on  my  account,  Lizzie,"  Mrs. 
Carroll  replied  with  a  slightly  offended  air. 
"I  am  quite  capable  of  going  to  China  if  it  was 
necessary ;  I  hadn't  thought  to  mention  it  to 
3'ou  yesterday,  but  there's  some  shopping  I 
want  to  do,  so  I'll  get  right  off  on  the  morn- 
ins:  train." 

"Will  you  have  time  to  get  around  to  see 
Bessie  .f^" 

"I'll  make  time,"  said  grandma  trenchantly. 
"I  want  to  see  what  she's  doing  with  my  own 
eyes.  I  don't  know  what  you  think  about  her 
not  asking  her  father  in  to  her  table,  but  I 
know  what  I  think." 

"Oh,  mother,  I  hope  you  won't " 

"You  needn't  to  worry  a  mite  about  what 
I'll  say  or  do,  I  shan't  be  hasty ;  but  I  mistrust 
that  Sipp  woman  is  leading  Lizzie  into  ex- 
travagance and  foolishness,   and  I  mean   to 

112 


AND    SO    THEY    WERE    MARRIED 
^     -^ 
find  out.     I  shall  probably  stay  all  night,  and 
maybe  all  day  to-morrow." 

"But  it  might  not  be  convenient  for  Bessie," 
hesitated  Mrs.  North,  "you  know  what  she 
said  about  telephoning ;  I  guess  I'd  better  let 
her  know  you're  coming." 

"Humpl"  ejaculated  grandma,  "it  wasn't  al- 
ways convenient  for  me  to  be  up  nights  with 
her  when  she  had  whooping-cough  and  measles, 
but  I  did  it  just  the  same.     I  don't  want  you 
should   telephone,    daughter.      I    don^t   know 
just  when  I  shall  get  around  to  Lizzie's  house ; 
when  I  do.  I'll  stay  till  I  get  ready  to  come 
home,  you  can  depend  upon  that,  if  all  the 
folks  in  Boston  are  there  a-visiting.     I'll  go 
right  in  and  visit  with  them.     I'm  going  to 
tale  mv  best  silk  dress  and  my  point  lace  col- 
lar, so'l  guess  I'll  be  fuU  as  dressy  as  any  of 


'em  " 


Mrs.  North  sighed  apprehensively,  but  in  the 
end  she  saw  3Jrs.  Carroll  onto  the  train  with 
a  wondering  sense  of  relief.  "Mother  always 
did  know  how  to  manage  Bessie  better  than  I 
did,"  she  told  herself  vaguely. 

11^ 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

When  Mrs.  Carroll  arrived  at  her  destina- 
tion the  whistles  were  proclaiming  the  hour  of 
noon.  "I'm  just  in  time  for  dinner,  I  guess," 
she  observed  cheerfully  to  the  elevator  boy, 
who  grinned  his  appreciation.  But  there  was 
no  token  of  occupancy  about  the  Brewster 
apartment  when  Mrs.  Carroll  rapped  smartly 
upon  the  door. 

"The  missis  is  out,"  volunteered  the  boy,  who 
had  lingered  to  watch  the  progress  of  the 
pink-cheeked,  smiling  old  lady  ;  "but  the  girl's 
there.     I  seen  her  s:o  in  not  fifteen  minutes 


ir>' 


Thus  encouraged  Mrs.  Carroll  repeated  her 
summons.  After  what  seemed  a  second  in- 
terminable silence  the  door  opened,  disclosing 
an  alert  presence  in  an  immaculate  cap  and 
apron. 

"How  do  you  do.?"  said  grandma  pleasantly. 
"This  boy  here  says  Mrs.  Brewster  isn't  at 
home ;  but  I'll  come  in  and  wait  till  she  does. 
I'm  her  grandmother,  Mrs.  Carroll ;  you've 
probably  heard  her  speak  of  me,  and  I  guess 
you're  the  girl  she  tells  about  in  hei  letters 

114 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

sometimes.  You've  got  a  pretty  name,  my 
dear,  and  you  look  real  neat  and  clean.  Now 
if  you'll  just  take  my  bag,  it's  pretty  heavy, 

and 

Annita  had  not  taken  her  beady  black  eyes 
ofF  the  little  presence.     "I  never  let  strangers 
in  when  Mrs.   Brewster's  not  at  home,"   she 
said  stohdly.     "It  ain't  to  be  expected  that  I 
should.     I  guess  you'll  have  to  come  again, 
about  four  this  afternoon,  maybe." 
"I  like  to  see  a  hired  girl  careful  and  watch- 
ful," said  grandma  approvingly,  "but  if  you 
look    in   the   photograph   album   I    gave^  my 
grandaughter  Lizzie,  on  her  sixteenth  birth- 
day, you'll  see  my  picture  on  the  front  page, 
and  that'll  relieve  you  of  all  responsibility." 
She  pushed  determinedly  past  the  astonished 
Annita,  and  was  laying  ofP  her  bonnet  in  the 
front  room  before  that  young  person  could 
collect  her  forces  for  a  second  protest. 

"So  your  mistress  isn't  coming  home  for  din- 
ner?" Mrs.  Carroll's  voice  full  of  kindly  in- 
flections pursued  Miss  McMurtry  to  her  final 
stronghold.    "My  1  I'd  forgotten  what  a  smaU 

115 


AND   SO   THEY  WERE   MARRIED 

kitchen  this  was.  Dark,  isn't  it?  I'm  afraid 
that's  what  makes  you  look  so  pale.  Now  if 
3'^ou'll  just  make  me  a  cup  of  tea — or  let  me 
do  it  if  you're  busy ;  I'm  used  to  waiting  on 
myself.  I  suppose  1*11  find  the  tea-caddy  in 
here." 

"You — let — m}'  place  alone — j^ou  !"  hissed 
Annita,  livid  with  rage,  as  Grandma  Carroll 
laid  her  hand  on  the  door  of  the  cupboard. 
But  she  was  too  late ;  the  open  door  disclosed 
a  large  frosted  cake,  a  heap  of  dehcately 
browned  rolls  and  a  roasted  chicken. 

"Well,  well !  your  cooking  looks  very  nice  in- 
deed. I  suppose  you're  expecting  compan}^ ; 
but  if  you  can  spare  me  one  of  those  tasty 
rolls  I  shall  make  out  nicely  with  the  tea.  Be 
sure  and  have  it  hot,  my  dear."  And  grand- 
ma pattered  gently  back  into  the  dining-room, 
smiling  wisely  to  herself. 

Just  how  many  of  IVIiss  jMclMurtry's  plans 
went  awry  that  afternoon  it  would  be  hard  to 
say.  At  throe  o'clock,  when  a  mysterious 
black-robed  elderly  person  carrying  a  capa- 
cious basket  came  up  in  the  elevator  she  was 

116 


AXD   SO  THEY  WERE   MARRIED 

met  in  the  corridor  by  a  white-visaged  fury  in 
a  frilled  cap  and  apron,  who  implored  her  dis- 
tractedly to  go  away. 

"An'  phwat  for  should  I  go  away ;  ain't  the 
things  ready  as  usual?"  demanded  the  lady 
with  the  basket.  "I'd  like  me  cup  o'  tea,  too ; 
I'm  that  tired  an'  cold." 

Miss  Mc]Murtry  almost  wept  on  the  maternal 
shoulder.  "I've  got  a  lovely  chicken,"  she 
whispered,  "an'  a  cake,  besides  the  rolls  you 
was  hungry  for,  an'  the  groceries  ;  but  her 
gran'mother,  bad  luck  to  her,  come  this 
mornin'  from  the  country,  an'  she's  helpin'  me 
clean  my  kitchen.'^'' 

"Phwat  for 'd you  let  her  into  your  kitchen?" 
demanded  the  elder  McMurtry  indignantly. 
"I'm  surprised  at  ye,  Annie." 

"I  didn't  let  her  in,  she  walked  right  out  and 
poked  her  nose  into  me  cupboard  without  so 
much  as  sayin'  by  your  leave.  I  think  I'll  be 
leavin'  my  place ;  I  won't  wait  t'  be  trowed 
out  by  her."  ]Miss  McMurtry's  tone  was  bit- 
ter. "They  ain't  much  anyway.  I'd  rather 
go  where  there  was  more  to  do  with." 

117 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE   MARRIED 

"Right  you  are,  Annie,  my  girl,  I've  towld 
you  that  same  many's  the  time.  But  if  you're 
leavin'  the  night  be  sure — "  The  woman's 
voice  dropped  to  a  hissing  whisper. 

"I'll  do  it  sure,  and  maybe — "  The  girl's 
black  eyes  gleamed  wickedly  as  she  caught  the 
creak  and  rattle  of  the  ascending  elevator  " — 
I  can  do  better  than  what  you  said  in  the 
end.  It's  safe  enough  with  the  likes  o'  them. 
They're  easy." 

At  six  o'clock  in  fluttered  Elizabeth,  a  vision 
of  elegant  femininity  in  her  soft  furs  and 
plumes  and  trailing  skirts.  Darling  grand- 
mamma was  kissed  and  embraced  quite  in  the 
latest  fashion,  and  the  two  sat  down  cosily  to 
visit  while  Annita  set  the  table  for  dinner  with 
stony  composure. 

"I've  been  here  since  noon,"  said  grandma, 
complacently,  "and  I've  been  putting  in  my 
time  helping  your  hired  girl  clean  her  cup- 
boards." 

"What!  Annita?  You've  been  helping 
Annita?" 

"Why,  yes  ;  I  didn't  have  anything  else  to  do, 

118 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

and  the  cupboards  certainly  did  need  cleaning. 
Seems  to  me,  Lizzie,  you  keep  a  big  stock  of 
all  sorts  of  groceries  on  hand  for  so  small  a 
family  as  yours." 

"Do  we?"  asked  Elizabeth,  yawning  daintily. 
"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  we  have.  Annita 
is  perfectly  competent  to  attend  to  everything 
in  the  kitchen,  and  I  never  interfere.  She 
doesn't  like  it,  and  so  why  should  I." 

"What  are  you  paying  for  butter  this  win- 
ter.'^" grandma  wanted  to  know,  after  a 
thoughtful  pause. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  the  usual  price,  I 
suppose.  Sam  attends  to  the  bills.  He  looks 
them  over  every  night  when  he  comes  home, 
and  gives  Annita  the  money  to  pay  them  with." 

"Hum !"  commented  grandma,  surveying  her 
granddaughter  keenly  over  the  top  of  her 
spectacles ;  "that's  a  new  way  to  keep  house, 
seems  to  me." 

"It's  a  nice  way,  I  know  that,"  laughed  Eliza- 
beth. 

She  had  changed  subtly  from  the  shy,  unde- 
veloped girl  who  had  left  Innisfield  less  than 

119 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

a  3^ear  ago  into  a  luxuriance  of  bloom  and 
beauty  which  astonished  the  older  woman. 
There  was  an  air  of  poise,  of  elegance,  of  as- 
sured dignity  about  her  slender  figure  which 
fitted  her  as  did  her  gown. 

"It  must  be  easy,  certainly,"  agreed  Mrs. 
Carroll,  sniffing  delicately,  after  a  well-remem- 
bered fashion. 

Elizabeth  laughed  and  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders in  a  way  she  had  caught  from  Evelyn 
Tripp.  "Now  you  know  you  are  dying  to 
lecture  me,  grandma,"  she  said  caressingly ; 
"but  you  see,  dear,  that  things  are  decidedly 
different  here  in  Boston,  and —  But  here 
comes  Sam ;  he'll  be  so  glad  to  see  you." 

Mrs.  Carroll  was  very  cheerful  and  chatty 
with  the  young  people  that  evening.  She  told 
them  all  the  Innisfield  news  in  her  most  spir- 
ited fashion,  and  never  once  by  word  or  look 
expressed  her  growing  disapproval  of  what 
her  shrewd  old  eyes  were  telling  her. 

]\Iiss  IMcMurtry,  who  stood  with  her  ear 
glued  to  the  crack  of  the  door  for  a  long  half 
hour,  finally  retired  with  a  contemptuous  toss 

120 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE   MARRIED 

of  her  black  head.  Then,  the  coast  being 
clear,  she  found  opportunity  to  convey  to 
their  destination  the  comestibles  dutifully 
provided  for  maternal  consumption.  "She's 
full  as  easy  as  the  young  one  for  all  her  med- 
dlin'  ways,"  said  Miss  McMurtry,  "an'  she'll 
be  leavin'  in  the  momin',  so  there'll  be  no  back 
talk  comin'  from  her." 

But  for  once  Annita  was  mistaken  in  her 
premises.  Mrs.  Carroll,  it  is  true,  made  no 
immediate  reference  to  the  disclosures  af- 
forded by  her  daring  invasion  of  the  kitchen 
fastnesses,  nor  did  she  even  remotely  allude 
to  the  probable  date  of  her  departure  for  In- 
nisfield. 

"I  don't  want  you  should  make  company  of 
me,  Lizzie,"  she  said  pleasantly,  "or  put  your- 
self out  a  mite.  I'll  just  join  right  in  and  do 
whatever  you're  planning  to  do." 

Elizabeth  puckered  her  pretty  forehead  per- 
plexedly;  she  was  thinking  that  Grandma 
Carroll's  unannounced  visit  would  necessitate 
the  hasty  giving  up  of  a  gay  luncheon  and 
theatre  party  planned  for  that  very  afternoon. 

121 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

Tears  of  vexation  sparkled  in  her  brown  eyes, 
as  she  took  down  the  telephone  receiver. 

Mrs.  Carroll  listened  to  the  one-sided  con- 
versation which  followed  witliout  visible  dis- 
comfiture. "Now  that's  too  bad,"  she  ob- 
serv^ed  sympathetically.  "Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  you  wanted  to  go,  and  I'd  have  eaten  my 
lunch  right  here  at  home.  There's  plenty  of 
cooked  victuals  in  your  kitchen  pantry ;  I  saw 
'em  yesterday  whilst  I  was  out  helping  around. 
I  suppose  your  hired  girl  cooked  that  roast 
chicken  and  the  layer-cake  and  the  rolls  for 
Samuel's  noonings.  I  hope  you'll  see  to  it, 
Lizzie,  that  he  takes  a  good,  tasty  lunch 
to  work  every  day.  But  of  course  you 
do." 

Elizabeth  stared.  "Why,  grandma,"  she 
said,  "Sam  doesn't  carry  his  lunch  like  a  com- 
mon workman.  He  eats  it  at  a  restaurant  in 
South  Boston." 

"Hum !"  mused  Mrs.  Carroll,  "I  wonder  if 
he  gets  anything  fit  to  eat  there.''  Samuel  ap- 
pears to  have  gone  off  in  his  weight  consider- 
able since  I  saw  him  last,"  she  added,  shaking 

122 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED 

her  head  wisely.     "He  needs  a  gentian  tonic, 
I  should  say,  or — something." 

"You're  mistaken,  grandma,"  Elizabeth  said, 
with  an  air  of  offended  wifely  dignity.  "Sam 
isn't  the  least  bit  ill.  Of  course  he  works  hard, 
but  I  should  be  the  first  to  notice  it  if  there 
was  anything  the  matter  with  my  husband." 

"Care  killed  a  cat,"  quoted  grandma  senten- 
tiously,  "and  you  appear  to  be  pretty  much 
occupied  with  other  things.  Home  ought  to 
come  first,  my  dear;  I  hope  you  aren't  forget- 
ting that." 

EHzabeth's  pretty  face  was  a  study ;  she  bit 
her  lip  to  keep  back  the  petulant  words  that 

trembled  on  her  tongue.     "Evelyn  is  coming, 

grandma,"    she    said   hurriedly,   "and   please 

don't — discuss  things  before  her." 
Miss  Tripp  was  unaffectedly  surprised  and, 

as  she  declared,  ''cliarmed''  to  see  dear  Mrs. 

Carroll  in  Boston.     "I  didn't  suppose,"  she 

said,  "that  you  ever  could  bring  yourself  to 

leave  dear,  quiet  Innisfield." 
:Mrs.  Carroll,  on  her  part,  exhibited  a  smiling 

blandness  of  demeanour  which  served  as  an  in- 

123 


AND    SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

centive  to  the  lively,  if  somewhat  one-sided 
conversation  which  followed;  a  shrewd  ques- 
tion now  and  then  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Car- 
roll eliciting  numerous  facts  all  bearing  on 
the  varied  social  activities  of  ''dear  Eliza- 
beth." 

"I'm  positively  looking  forward  to  Lent," 
sighed  Miss  Tripp ;  "for  really  I'm  worn  to  a 
fringe,  but  dear  Elizabeth  never  seems  tired, 
no  matter  how  many  engagements  she  has.  It 
is  a  perfect  delight  to  look  at  her,  isn't  it, 
dear  Mrs.  Carroll?" 

"Lizzie  certainly  does  look  healthy,"  admit- 
ted the  smiling  old  lady,  "but  it  beats  me  how 
she  finds  time  to  look  after  her  husband  and 
her  hired  girl  with  so  many  parties." 

The  result  of  Mrs.  Carroll's  subsequent  ob- 
servations and  conclusions  were  summed  up  in 
the  few  trenchant  remarks  addressed  to  her 
granddaughter  the  following  day,  as  she  was 
tying  on  her  bonnet  preparatory  to  taking  the 
train  for  Innisfield. 

"I  hope  you'll  come  again  soon,  grandma," 
Elizabeth  said  dutifully. 

124 


AND    SO    THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

"I  mistrust  you  don't  mean  that,  Lizzie,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Carroll,  facing  about  and  gazing 
keenly  at  the  young  matron,  "and  I  may  as 
well  say  that  I'm  not  likely  to  interfere  with 
your  plans  often.  I  like  my  own  bed  and  my 
own  rocking-chair  too  well  to  be  going  about 
the  country  much.  But  I  couldn't  make  out 
from  what  your  father  said  just  what  the  mat- 
ter was." 

Elizabeth  shrua:a:ed  her  shoulders  with  a 
pretty  air  of  forbearance.  "I  was  awfully 
sorry  about  daddy,"  she  murmured ;  "but  I 
don't  see  how  I  could  have  done  anything  else 
under  the  circumstances." 

"Well,  /  do,"  said  Grandma  Carroll  severely. 
She  buttoned  her  gloves  energetically  as  she 
went  on  in  no  uncertain  tones.  "I've  always 
been  a  great  believer  in  everybody  minding 
their  own  business,  but  there's  times  when  a 
little  plain  speech  w^on't  hurt  anybody.  Things 
aren't  going  right  in  your  house,  Lizzie ;  I 
can  see  that  without  half  looking.  I  warn 
you  to  keep  an  eye  on  your  kitchen  pantry, 
I  mistrust  there's  a  leak  there." 

125 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

"I  trust  Annita  perfectly,"  said  Eliza- 
beth, her  round  chin  tilted  aggressively. 
"And  I'm  sure  I  ought  to  know  by  this 
time." 

"I  agree  with  you  there,  Lizzie,  you  ought 
to  know,  but  you  don't.  That  girl  is  carry- 
ing things  out  of  your  kitchen  as  fast  as  the 
grocer  and  the  butcher  can  bring  them  in ;  I 
don't  think  you  can  afford  to  let  her  spend 
your  husband's  money  as  she  pleases,  and 
that  is  what  it  amounts  to  the  way  you're 
managing  now." 

"But  grandma,"  protested  Elizabeth,  "Sam 
looks  over  every  one  of  the  bills  himself  be- 
fore he  pays  them." 

"It  isn't  your  husband's  place  to  do  your 
work  and  his  own  too,  my  dear." 

Elizabeth  hung  her  head,  her  face  flaming 
with  angry  colour. 

"You've  been  brought  up  to  be  a  sensible, 
industrious,  economical  woman,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Carroll  earnestly ;  "but  from  what  that  Tipp 
girl  said  yesterday,  I  should  imagine  you'd 
taken    leave    of    your    senses.      What    does 

126 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED 

Samuel  say  to  your  spending  so  much  money 
and  being  out  so  constant?" 

"He — he  likes  to  have  me  have  a  good  time." 

"Well,  I'll  lose  my  guess  if  he'^s  having  one," 
said  grandma  pointedly.  "Samuel  looked  wor- 
ried to  death  last  night  when  Terita  brought 
him  the  bills.  And  I  took  notice  he  didn't  eat 
scarcely  anything  at  dinner.  For  that  mat- 
ter, I  didn't  myself ;  there  wasn't  a  thing  on 
the  table  cooked  properly.  Now,  Lizzie,  I've 
said  my  say,  and  I'm  going."  She  kissed  her 
granddaughter  heartily.  "Take  time  to 
think  it  over,  child,  and  mind  you  don't  tell 
the  Fripp  girl  what  I've  said.  She  could  talk 
a  bird  off  a  bush  without  a  bit  of  trouble." 

"I  wonder  if  everybody  gets  as  queer  and 
unreasonable  as  grandma  when  they  are  old," 
mused  Elizabeth,  as  she  picked  her  way 
daintily  through  the  sloppy  streets.  "I'm  sure 
I  hope  I  sha'n't.  Of  course  Sam  is  all  right. 
I  guess  he'd  tell  me  the  very  first  thing  if  he 
wasn't." 

Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Carroll's  significant  words 
had  left  an  unpleasant  echo  in  her  mind  which 

127 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

haunted  her  at  intervals  all  day.  Under  its 
influence  she  made  a  bold  incursion  into  her 
kitchen,  after  a  luncheon  of  chipped  beef,  dry 
toast  and  indifferent  baker's  cake. 

"Have  we  any  cold  chicken,  Annita?"  she 
asked  hesitatingly.  "I — that  is,  I  am  expect- 
ing a  few  friends  this  afternoon,  and  I 
thought " 

Miss  McMurtry  faced  about  and  eyed  her 
mistress  with  lowering  brows.  "There  ain't 
any  chicken  in  the  place,  Mrs.  Brewster,"  she 
said  stonily ;  "an'  as  I  ain't  in  the  habit  of 
havin'  parties  sprung  on  me  unbeknownst, 
I'll  be  leaving  at  the  end  of  my  month,  which 
is  to-morrow — if  you  please." 

Elizabeth's  new-found  dignity  enabled  her  to 
face  the  woman's  angry  looks  without  visible 
discomfiture.  "Very  well,  Annita,"  she  said 
quietly.  "Perhaps  that  will  be  best  for  both 
of  us." 


128 


CHAPTER  X 

Elizabeth  greeted  her  husband  that  night 
with  a  speculative  anxiety  in  her  eyes  bom  of 
the  uncomfortable  misgivings  which  had 
haunted  her  during  the  day.  And  when  after 
dinner  he  dropped  asleep  over  his  evening 
paper  she  perceived  with  a  sharp  pang  of  ap- 
prehension that  his  face  was  thinner  than  she 
had  ever  seen  it,  that  his  healthy  colour  had 
paled  somewhat,  and  that  hitherto  unnoticed 
lines  had  begun  to  show  themselves  about  his 
mouth  and  eyes. 

She  reached  for  his  hand  which  hung  idly 
by  his  side,  and  the  light  touch  awakened  him. 
"Oh,  Sam,"  she  began,  "Grandma  Carroll  in- 
sisted upon  it  that  you  were  looking  ill,  and  I 
wanted  to  see  if  you  had  any  fever;  working 
over  there  in  that  unhealthy  part  of  town, 
3''ou  might  have  caught  something." 

"Who  told  you  it  was  unhealthy.^"  he  wanted 
to  know.     "It  really  isn't  at  all,  little  girl, 

129 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

and  you're  not  to  worry  about  me — or  any- 
thing." 

At  just  what  point  in  his  career  Samuel 
Brewster  had  acquired  the  Quixotic  idea  that 
a  woman,  and  particularly  a  young  and  beau- 
tiful woman,  should  not  be  allowed  to  taste  the 
smallest  drop  of  the  world's  bitterness  he 
could  not  have  explained.  But  the  notion,  al- 
beit a  mistaken  one,  was  as  much  a  part  of 
himself  as  the  blue  of  his  steadfast  eyes  or 
the  bronzy  brown  of  his  crisp  locks. 

"You're  not,"  he  repeated  positively,  "to 
give  yourself  the  slightest  anxiety  about  me. 
I  never  felt  better  in  my  life."  And  he  smiled 
determinedly. 

"But,  Sam  dear,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  worry 
if  3^ou  are  going  to  be  ill,  or  if — "  a  misty 
light  breaking  in  upon  her  confused  thoughts, 
"you  are  keeping  anything  from  me  that  I 
ought  to  know.  I've  been  thinking  about  It 
all  day,  and  I've  been  wondering  If — "  she 
lowered  her  voice  cautiously — "Annita  is 
perfectly  reliable.  I've  always  thought  so 
till  to-day.     Anyway,  she's  going  to  leave  to- 

\20 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

^     <^ 
morrow,  and  you'll  be  obliged  to  go  back  to 
my  cooking  for  a  while,  till  I  can  get  some 
one  else." 

The  somewhat  vague  explanations  which  fol- 
lowed called  for  an  examination  of  grocer's 
and  butcher's  accounts;  and  the  two  heads 
were  bent  so  closely  over  the  parti-coloured 
slips  that  neither  heard  the  hasty  prepara- 
tions for  departure  going  on  in  the  rear. 

"It  looks  to  me  as  if  our  domestic  had  been 
spoiling  the  Egyptians,"  hazarded  Sam,  after 
half  an  hour  of  unsatisfactory  work.  "But 
I  really  don't  know  how  much  meat,  groceries 
and  stuff  we  ought  to  be  using." 

"I  might  have  found  out,"  murmured  Eliza- 
beth contritely.  "I've  just  gone  on  enjoy- 
ing myself  like  a  child,  and — and  I'm  afraid 
I've  spent  too  much  money.  I  haven't  kept 
any  count." 

Her  husband  glanced  at  her  pretty  worried 
face  with  a  frown  of  perplexity  and  annoy- 
ance between  his  honest  eyes.  "The  fact  is, 
Betty,"  he  burst  out,  "a  poor  man  has  no 
business  to  marry  and  make  a  woman  uncom- 

131 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE   MARRIED 

fortable  and  unhappy.  You  haven't  spent 
but  a  trifle,  dear,  and  all  on  the  simplest,  most 
innocent  pleasures ;  yet  it  does  count  up  so 
confoundedly.  I  wanted  you  to  have  a  good 
time,  dear,  and  I  couldn't — bear — "  He 
dropped  into  a  chair  and  thrust  his  hands 
deep  into  his  pockets. 

"Then  we  have  been  spending  too  much  on 
— contingencies ;  why  didn't  you  tell  me  be- 
fore?" 

He  bit  his  lip.  "We've  spent  nearly  every 
dollar  of  our  reserve,  Betty,"  he  said  slowly, 
"and  this  month  I'm  afraid — I  don't  see  how 
I  am  going  to  meet  all  of  the  bills." 

"Oh,  Sam !"  gasped  Elizabeth,  turning  pale. 

A  voice  from  the  softly  opened  kitchen  door 
broke  in  upon  this  crucial  conversation. 
"You'll  please  to  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Brewster, 
but  I've  had  word  that  my  mother  is  sick,  an' 
I'll  have  to  be  leaving  at  once.  My  month's 
up  in  the  morning  anyway,  an'  I  hope  you'll 
not  mind  paying  me  my  wages  to-night." 

Her  lip  curled  scornfully  as  she  glanced  at 
the  tradesmen's  slips  scattered  on  the  table. 

132 


AXD   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

^      9? 

Miss  McMurtry  openly  despised  people  who, 
as  she  expressed  it,  were  always  "trying  to 
save  a  copper  cent  on  their  meat  and  gro- 
ceries." She  herself  felt  quite  above  such  econo- 
mies. One  could  always  change  one's  place, 
and  being  somewhat  versed  in  common  law,  she 
felt  reasonably  secure  in  such  small  pecadil- 
loes  as  she  had  seen  fit  to  commit  while  in  the 
employ  of  the  Brewsters. 

"I  should  like  to  ask  you  a  few  questions 
first  about  these  accounts,"  said  the  inexperi- 
enced head  of  the  house  sternly.  "How  does 
it  happen  that  you  ordered  fifteen  pounds  of 
sugar,  seven  pounds  of  butter  and  two  of 
coffee  last  week?  Surely  Mrs.  Brewster  and 
I  never  consumed  such  an  amount  of  provi- 
sions as  I  see  we  have  paid  for." 

Miss  McMurtry's  elbows  vibrated  slightly. 
"I  only  ordered  what  was  needed,  sir,"  she  re- 
plied in  a  high,  shrill  voice.  "Sure,  you  told 
me  yourself  not  to  bother  the  madame." 

"I  did  tell  vou  that,  I  know.  I  thoucrht  you 
were  to  be  trusted,  but  this  doesn't  look  like 
it." 

13.S 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

A  fearsome  change  came  over  the  countenance 
of  the  respectable  young  person  in  the  frilled 
apron.  "Are  you  meaning  to  insinooate  that 
/  took  them  groceries?"  she  demanded  fiercely. 
"I'll  ask  you  to  prove  that  same.  Prove  it,  I 
say !  It's  a  lie,  an'  I'd  be  willin'  to  swear  to 
it  in  a  court  of  justice.  That's  what  comes 
of  me  workin'  for  poor  folks  that  can't  pay 
their  bills !"  Miss  IMc^Iurtry  swung  about 
on  her  heels  and  included  Elizabeth  in  the 
lightning  of  her  gaze.  "I  come  here  to  ac- 
comydate  her,  thinkin'  she  was  a  perfec'  lady, 
an'  I've  slaved  night  an'  day  in  her  kitchen 
a-tryin'  my  best  to  please  her,  an'  this  is  /hat 
I  gets  for  it !  But  you  can't  take  my  charac- 
ter away  that  easy  ;  I've  the  best  of  references  ; 
an'  I'll  trouble  you  for  my  wages — if  you  can 
pay  'em.  If  not,  there's  ways  I  can  collect 
'em." 

"Pay  her,  Sam,  and  let  her  go,  do !"  begged 
Elizabeth  in  a  frightened  whisper. 

"I  ought  not  to  pay  the  girl,rm  sure  of  that ; 
but  to  save  you  further  annoyance,my  dear — " 
He  counted  out  twenty-two  dollars,  and  pushed 

134 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

the  little  pile  of  bills  across  the  table.  "Take 
it,"  he  said  peremptorily,  "and  go." 

The  two  gazed  at  each  other  in  silence  while 
the  loud  trampling  footsteps  of  the  erstvrhile 
gentle  and  noiseless  Annita  sounded  in  the 
rear.  Then,  when  a  violent  and  expressive 
bano;  of  the  kitchen  door  announced  the  fact 
that  their  domestic  had  finally  shaken  off  the 
dust  of  her  departure  against  them,  Eliza,beth 
burst  into  a  relieved  laugh.  She  came  pres- 
entlj"^  and  perched  on  her  husband's  knee. 

"Sam,  dear,"  she  murmured,  "it  is  all  my 
fault,  every  bit  of  it.  No ;  don't  contradict 
me — nor  interrupt — please !  We  can't  afford 
to  go  on  this  wa}^,  and  w^e're  not  going  to. 
We'll  begin  over  again,  just  as  we  meant  to 
before  I — "  she  paused  while  a  flood  of 
shamed  colour  swept  over  her  drooped  face 
" — tried  to  be  fashionable.  It  isn't  really  so 
very  much  fun  to  go  to  card-parties  and  teas 
and  luncheons,  and  I  don't  care  a  bit  about  it 
all,  especially  if — if  it  is  going  to  cost  us  too 
much ;  and  I — can  see  that  it  has  already." 

All  her  little  newly  acquired  graces  and  aff  ec- 

135 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

9?  ^ 
tatlons  dropped  away  as  she  spoke,  and  her 
husband  saw  the  sweet,  womanly  soul  he  had 
loved  and  longed  for  in  the  beginning  look- 
ing out  of  her  brown  eyes.  He  kissed  her 
thankfully,  almost  solemnly.  "Dear  Betty," 
he  whispered. 

"Couldn't  we — go  away  from  this  place.'*" 
she  went  on  after  a  while.  "It  isn't  very 
pleasant,  is  it?  and — I'm  almost  ashamed  to 
say  it — but  Evelyn  Tripp  has  such  a  way  of 
making  things  look  different  to  one.  What 
she  says  sounds  so — so  sensible  that  I  can't — • 
at  least  I  haven't  done  as  I  intended  in  hardly 
anything." 

"There's  a  little  red  cottage  to  let,  with  a 
pocket-handkerchief  lawn  in  front  and  room 
for  a  garden  behind,  not  half  a  mile  from 
where  we  are  working,"  Sam  told  her,  "but 
I  haven't  mentioned  it  because  it's  a  long  way 
to  Tremont  Street  and — Evelyn."  His  blue 
eyes  were  full  of  the  laughing  light  she  had 
missed  vaguely  for  more  weeks  than  she  cared 
to  remember. 

"Let's    engage    it    to-morrow!"    exclaimed 

136 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

^     '^ 

Elizabeth.  "Why,  Sam  dear,  we  could  have 
roses  and  strawberries  and  all  sorts  of  fun  out 
there !" 

When,  after  missing  her  friend  for  several 
days.  Miss  Tripp  called  at  the  Brewster  apart- 
ment she  was  astonished  beyond  measure  to 
find  her  dearest  Elizabeth  busy  packing  some 
last  trifles,  while  several  brawny  men  were  en- 
gaged in  taking  away  the  furniture. 

"3/3/  dear!'*  she  exclaimed.  "What  are  you 
doing?" 

"We're  moving,"  said  Elizabeth  tranquill}^ 
"You  know  I  never  cared  particularly  for  this 
apartm.ent,  the  rooms  are  so  dark  and  unpleas- 
ant ;  besides  the  rent  is  too  high  for  us." 

"But  where " 

"I  was  just  going  to  tell  you ;  we've  taken  a 
little  house  away  over  near  the  new  water- 
works." Then  as  Miss  Tripp's  eyebrows  and 
shoulders  expressed  a  surprise  bordering  on 
distraction,  "I  felt  that  it  would  be  better 
for  us  both  to  be  nearer  Sam's  work.  He  can 
come  home  to  luncheon  now,  and  I — we  shall 
like  that  immensely." 

137 


AND  SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

"But  you're  going  out  of  the  world;  do  you 
realise  that,  my  dear?  And  just  as  you  were 
beginning  to  be  known,  too ;  and  when  I've 
tried  so  hard  to — "  Miss  Tripp's  voice  broke, 
and  she  touched  her  eyelids  delicately  with  her 
handkerchief.  "Oh,  why  didn't  you  consult 
me  before  taking  such  an  irrevocable  step? 
I'm  sure  I  could  have  persuaded  you  to  change 
your  mind." 

Elizabeth  opened  her  lips  to  reply ;  then  she 
hesitated  at  sight  of  Evelyn's  wan  face,  where- 
on the  lavishly  applied  rice  powder  failed  to 
conceal  the  traces  of  the  multiplied  fatigues 
and  disappointments  of  a  purely  artificial 
hfe. 

"You'll  be  glad  you  didn't  try  to  make  me 
change  my  mind  when  you  see  our  house,"  she 
said  gaily.  "It  has  all  been  painted  and 
papered,  and  everything  about  the  place  is  as 
fresh  and  sunny  and  delightful  as  this  place 
is  dark  and  dingy  and  disagreeable.  Only 
think,  Evelyn,  there  is  a  real  fireplace  in  the 
living  room,  where  we  are  going  to  bum  real 
wood  of  an  evening,  and  the  bay-window  ia 

138 


AND    SO    THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

the  dining-room  looks  out  on  a  grass-plot  bor- 
dered with  rose-bushes !" 

"But  the  neighbourhood,  dear !"  wailed  Eve- 
lyn. "Only  think  what  a  social  Sahara  you 
are  going  into !" 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  Elizabeth  told 
her  calmly.  "Several  of  the  engineers  who  are 
working  with  Sam  live  near  with  their  families, 
and  Sam  thinks  we  are  going  to  enjoy  it  im- 
mensely.    He  is  so  glad  we  are  going." 

Evelyn  had  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap  and 
sat  looking  hopelessly  about  the  dismantled 
rooms.  "You  don't  seem  to  think  about  me, 
Betty,"  she  said,  after  a  while.  "I — I  am  go- 
ing to  miss  you  terribly."  Tears  shone  in  her 
faded  eyes  and  her  voice  trembled. 

Elizabeth's  warm  heart  was  touched. 
"You've  been  very  good  to  me,  Evelyn,"  she 
said.  "I  shall  never  forget  all  that  I've — 
learned  from  you.  But  we're  really  not  go- 
ing out  of  the  world,  and  you  shall  come  and 
see  us  whenever  you  will,  and  bye  and  bye  we 
shall  have  strawberries  and  roses  to  offer  vou." 


139 


CHAPTER  XI 

The  roses  on  the  tiny  lawn  of  which  Sam  had 
spoken  were  in  full  bud,  and  Elizabeth  was 
searching  eagerly  for  the  first  streak  of  pink 
in  the  infant  blossoms  when  she  was  surprised 
by  the  sight  of  an  imposing  equipage  drawing 
up  at  the  curb.  The  fat  black  horses  pawed 
the  gravel  disdainfully,  shaking  their  jingling 
harness,  as  the  liveried  footman  dismounted 
from  his  perch  and  approached  the  mistress 
of  the  house. 

"I  beg  pawdon,  miss,"  he  said  loftily ;  "but 
can  you  tell  me  where — aw — Mrs.  Samuel 
Brewster  lives.?" 

"I  am  Mrs.  Brewster."     Elizabeth  told  him. 

Whereupon  the  man  presented  a  card  with  an 
air  of  haughty  humility. 

Elizabeth's  wondering  eyes  uprose  from  its 
perusal  to  the  vision  of  a  tall,  stout  lady  at- 
tired in  purple  broadcloth  who  was  being  as- 
sisted  from    the    carriage.      The   hot    colour 

140 


AXD    SO    THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

flamed  over  her  fair  face,  and  for  an  instant 
she  was  tempted  to  run  into  the  house  and 
hide  herself  and  the  neat  checked  gingham 
gown  she  was  wearing.  Then  she  gripped  her 
courage  with  both  hands  and  came  forward 
smiling  determinedly. 

The  august  personage  in  purple  paused  at 
sight  of  the  slender,  blue-frocked  figure,  and 
raising  a  gold-mounted  lorgnette  to  her  eyes 
deliberately  inspected  it.  "You  are — Samuel 
Brewster's  wife?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Van  Duser."  Elizabeth's  voice 
trembled  in  spite  of  herself,  but  her  eyes  were 
calmly  bright.  "Won't  you  come  in.^"  she 
added  politely. 

The  lady  breathed  somewhat  heavily  as  she 
mounted  the  vine-wreathed  porch.  "I  will  sit 
down  here,"  she  announced  magisterially  ;  "the 
air  is  pleasant  in  the  country." 

Elizabeth's  brief  experience  in  Boston  so- 
ciety came  to  her  assistance,  enabling  her  to 
reph^  suitably  to  this  undeniable  statement  of 
fact.  Then  an  awesome  silence  ensued,  broken 
only  by  the  bold  chirp  of  an  unabashed  robin 

141 


AND   SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED 

successfully  hunting  worms  in  the  grass- 
plot. 

"Where  is  your  husband?"  suddenly  pro- 
pounded the  visitor. 

"Mr.  Brewster  is  engaged  in  making  a  topo- 
graphical map  for  the  city ;  I  do  not  know  ex- 
actly where  he  is  this  afternoon,"  replied 
Elizabeth,  her  colour  paling,  then  rising  as  she 
recalled  the  too  well-remembered  words  of  Mrs. 
Van  Duser's  late  communication.  "Did  you 
wish  to  see  him?" 

Mrs.  Van  Duser  was  apparently  engaged  in  a 
severe  inspection  of  the  adventurous  robin. 
She  did  not  at  once  reply. 

Elizabeth  looked  down  at  the  toe  of  her 
shabby  little  shoe.  "Sam — comes  home  to 
lunch  now,"  she  faltered.  "I — he  hasn't  been 
gone  long." 

"Ah!"  intoned  Mrs.  Van  Duser,  majestically 
transferring  her  attention  from  the  daring 
robin  to  Elizabeth's  crimson  face. 

"Samuel  has  neglected  to  call  upon  me  since 
his  return  to  Boston."  was  Mrs.  Van  Duser's 
next  remark,  delivered  in  an  awe-inspiring  con- 

142 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED 

tralto ;  "though  it  is  evident  that  he  owes  me 
an  acknowledgment  of  his  present  good  for- 
tune." 

Elizabeth  fixed  round  eyes  of  astonishment 
upon  her  visitor.  "I  can't  think  what  you 
mean,"  she  exclaimed  unguardedly. 

"And  yet  I  find  you  here,  in  this  sylvan  spot, 
far  removed  from  the  follies  and  temptations 
of  your  former  position,  and — I  trust — pros- 
pering in  a  modest  way." 

"Thank  you,"  murmured  Elizabeth,  pink 
with  indignation,  "we  are  getting  on  very 
well." 

"What  rent  do  you  pay.'^" 

Elizabeth  looked  about  rather  wildly,  as  if 
searching  for  a  way  of  escape.  The  robin  had 
swallowed  his  latest  find  with  an  air  of  huge 
satisfaction,  and  now  flew  away  with  a  ring- 
ing summons  to  his  mate.  "We  pay  thirty 
dollars,  Mrs.  Van  Duser,"  she  said  slowly,  "by 
the  month." 

"Um!     Why  don't  you  buy  the  place?" 

"I  don't  think — I'm  sure  we — couldn't — " 
hesitated  Elizabeth. 

143 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE    MARRIED 

"You  are  wrong,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Duser, 
again  raising  her  lorgnette  to  her  eyes ;  "if 
you  can  afford  to  pay  three  hundred  and  sixty 
dollars  in  rent  you  can  afford  to  own  a  home, 
and  you  should  do  so.    Tell  Samuel  I  said  so." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Van  Duser,"  murmured  Eliza- 
beth in  a  depressed  monotone. 

"Do  you  keep  a  maid.^" 

"No,  Mrs.  Van  Duser,  I  do  my  own 
housework."  Elizabeth's  brown  eyes  sparkled 
defiantly  as  she  added,  "I  was  brought  up  to 
work,  and  I  like  to  do  it." 

Mrs.  Van  Duser's  large  solemn  countenance 
relaxed  into  a  smile  as  she  gazed  into  the  in- 
genuous young  face  ^t  her  side. 

"Ah,  my  dear,"  she  sighed,  "I  envy  you  your 
happiness,  though  I  had  it  myself  once  upon  a 
time.  I  don't  often  speak  of  those  days,  but 
John  Van  Duser  was  a  poor  man  when  I  mar- 
ried him,  and  we  lived  in  a  little  house  not  un- 
like this,  and  I  did  the  cooking.  Do  you 
think  you  could  give  me  a  cup  of  tea,  my 
dear.?" 

When  Samuel  Brewster  came  home  from  his 

14.4 


AND    SO   THEY    WERE    MARRIED 

work  at  an  unexpectedly  early  hour  that  after- 
noon he  was  astonished  to  find  an  imposing 
coupe,  drawn  by  two  fat,  shining  horses,  being 
driven  slowly  up  and  down  before  his  door; 
and  further,  as  he  entered  the  house,  by  the 
cheerful  sound  of  clinking  silver  and  china 
and  low-voiced  conversation.  Elizabeth,  pink- 
cheeked  and  smiling,  met  him  with  an  exclama- 
tion of  happy  surprise. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  came  home,  Sam  dear,"  she 
said.  "Mrs.  Van  Duser  was  hoping  to  see  you 
before  she  went." 

And  Mrs.  Van  Duser,  looking  very  much  at 
home  and  very  comfortable  indeed  in  Sam's 
own  big  wicker  chair,  proffered  him  a  large 
white  jewelled  hand,  while  she  bade  him  give  an 
account  of  himself  quite  in  the  tone  of  an  af- 
fectionate relative. 

"You  have  a  charming  and  sensible  wife,  Sam- 
uel, and  a  well-conducted  home,"  said  the  great 
lady.  "I  have  seen  the  whole  house,  cellar, 
kitchen  and  all,"  she  added  with  a  reminiscent 
sigh,  "and  it  has  carried  me  back  to  the  hap- 
piest days  I  ever  spent." 

145 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED 

The  young  engineer  passed  his  arm  about  his 
Elizabeth's  shoulders  as  the  two  stood  at  the 
gate  watching  the  stately  departure  of  the 
Van  Duser  equipage.  "Well,  Betty,"  he  said, 
"so  the  mountain  came  to  Mahomet  ?  But  the 
mountain  doesn't  seem  such  a  bad  sort,  after 
all.  I  liked  the  way  she  kissed  you  good-bye, 
though  I  should  never  have  guessed  she  was 
capable  of  it." 

Elizabeth  drew  a  deep  breath.  "I  never  was 
so  frightened  in  my  life  as  wlien  she  first 
came,"  she  confessed.  "But  she  is  kind,  Sam, 
in  her  w^ay,  though  at  first  I  thought  it  wasn't 
a  pleasant  way.  And  O,  Sam  dear,  she  thinks 
we  gave  up  our  flat  and  came  out  here  just 
because  she  wu'ote  us  that  letter;  she  was  as 
complacent  as  could  be  when  she  spoke  of  it." 

"Did  you  undeceive  her.''" 

"N-no,  dear,  I  didn't  even  try.  Perhaps  it 
was  the  letter — partly,  and  anyway  I  felt 
sure  I  couldn't  make  her  think  any  differently 
whatever  I  might  say.  But  I  did  tell  her  about 
Annita  and  about  how  thoughtless  and  selfish 

I  was,  and " 

146 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED 

"Did  you  tell  her  about  the  Tripp  lady?"  he 
suggested  teasingly. 

«Xo,"  she  said  gravely.     "Evelyn  meant  to 
be  kind,  too ;  I  am  sure  of  that." 

"O  benevolent  Betty  1"  he  exclaimed  with 
mock  gravity.  "O  most  sapient  Elizabeth  I  I 
perceive  that  in  gaining  a  new  friend  thou 
hast  not  lost  an  old  one  1  I  suppose  from  now 
on  you  will  begin  to  model  your  small  self 
on  the  Van  Duser  pattern.  IMy  lady  will 
see  to  it  that  you   do,   if  you  see  much  of 

her." 

Elizabeth  looked  up  at  her  tall  husband,  her 
brown  eyes  brimming  with  thoughtful  light. 
"It  is  good  to  have  friends,"  she  said  slowly ; 
"but,  Sam  dear,  we  must  never  allow  any— 
friend  to  come  between  us  again.  We  must 
live  our  own  lives,  and  solve  our  own  prob- 
lems, even  if  we  make  an  occasional  blunder 

doing  it."  ^ 

"We've  solved  our  problems  already,"  he  said 
confidentlv,  "and  I'm  not  afraid  of  the  blun- 
ders, thanks  to  the  dearest  and  best  little  wife 
a  man  ever  had." 

147 


AND   SO   THEY   WERE   MARRIED 

And  Elizabeth  smiled  back  at  him,  knowing 
in  her  wiser  woman's  heart  that  there  were  yet 
many  problems  to  be  solved,  but  not  fearful 
of  what  the  future  would  bring  in  the  light  of 
his  loving  eyes. 


im 


14  DAY  USE              m^ 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWtU 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

wii-n9'''^    ' 

-i-     <"■;  -m 

LD  21A-607n-10,'65 

General  Library 
University  of  California 

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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


